


(Underfell) All Messed Up

by whoawicked



Category: Underfell (Video Game), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: (but it's relatively mild), ? - Freeform, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Underfell, Angst, Blood and Violence, Caucasian female reader, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, From Sex to Love, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Jealous Sans, Minimal reader background, POV First Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive! Sans, Reader Is Not Chara, Reader Is Not Frisk, Reader is a redhead, Red glowing phalluses, Sex, Shameless Smut, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Some plot to move the sex forward, Stalking, Sweaty edgelord skelly, That's the first thing that happens, Tons of Sex, Vomit Mention, Voyeurism, Where did all this angst come from?, but backwards?, no seriously, violent sans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-08-18 03:36:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 79,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8147824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whoawicked/pseuds/whoawicked
Summary: It's been about one year since Frisk set the monsters free from the Underground.X is you, dear Reader.  You are a human, living on the surface in 201X. You are in denial of your budding addiction to alcohol, probably stemming from your love of partying.One night, after you get done fucking some punk you met at a bar, you notice something out of your window.In the apartment across the street...  Someone was... watching?No, it couldn't be.  A liquor-induced hallucination, it has to be....right?





	1. Get Out

**Author's Note:**

> ~~I'm posting the first two chapters, but I've got at least 6 written. If I get a positive response, I'll post the rest. Enjoy.~~
> 
> Welcome to ~~Saving a Sinner~~  
>     
>  ** _All Messed Up!_**
> 
> This isn't just your average every day smut fanfiction.
> 
> This is...
> 
> **_Advanced_ smut fanfiction.**
> 
> (Changed the title Oct. 11 2016 to something less angsty).
> 
> Enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick fyi, I do prefer writing in first person. I know it's pretty weird as far as self-insert stories go, but I feel that I can just write better stories this way. There's a small downside that it makes it difficult to understand characters other than the main character, but I might make some POV chapters at some point.

I’m so _fucking_ drunk.

 

“Fuck me… Harder! Yes!”

 

Under the dim light of my kitchen, the sound of skin slapping skin echoes throughout the rest of my apartment. We’re both gasping for breath as he thrusts his engorged cock inside me. He’s bending me over my kitchen table, my bare breasts pressed against the very spot I had my breakfast that morning, my nails scratching at the mahogany finish.

 

We’re nothing more than a couple of sweaty, hot bodies desperately searching for release. He slaps my ass and calls me a slut, eliciting deeper moans and gasps from me. I can only utter a slurred plea for more, more, more. My brain is swimming in the—what where they called? Red-headed sluts? How appropriate.

 

This marks the third round of sex we’ve had tonight, and my pussy is so sensitive that I can feel every inch of his (modestly sized, if we’re being honest here) dick thrusting in and out of me. The thought of my pussy dripping with a mélange of his and my own cum is driving me crazy, causing me to match each of his thrusts with my own hips. Every time he thrusts inside me, I moan louder than the time before. No matter what I try, I can’t satiate this burning carnal desire for him to…

 

Wait… wait. What’s his name again?

 

“Fuck, you’re so… f-fucking _tight_ , X!” he mutters under his labored breath, nails digging into my skin so hard I think he’s going to break the skin. He remembers _my_ name? The bit of guilt I feel brings me back to reality. He’s going to cum soon, I can feel it. Eh, wasn’t that good anyways. Time to finish for good, tonight.

 

“Yeeees! Please! Cum all inside me, fill me up with your huuuuge cock!” I plea, bracing myself against the table for the incoming rough pumps into my cunt. I may have been stretching the truth on that last part, but guys eat that shit up. He mumbles something unintelligible, no doubt a curse or a warning for his inevitable release. Sure enough, I can feel his cock thrust in one last time as he spews his hot cum into my warm pussy.

 

It’s over.

 

About fucking time.

 

He stays behind me for a second, the last few seconds of his orgasm receding, and I can feel him pull out of my pussy. I’m so tired and drunk that I want to pass out on my kitchen table just the way I am, bare ass sticking up in the air and all. But no, I can’t.

 

I lift myself up, careful not to move too quickly that I throw up, and turn myself around to face him. He’s wiping away what I assume was probably drool accumulating near his mouth, and he starts to lean in to kiss me.

 

“You can leave now.” I lean back slightly to avoid him.

 

He’s taken aback. “Y-You mean you d-don’t wanna—“

 

“Get out.” …Is that too mean? “Please,” I tack on after a beat. His shoulders slump, and he nods. I watch him as he drunkenly pulls his condom off his dick, and throws it into my kitchen waste bin. As he walks away, I admire how attractive he is: disheveled sandy blond hair, dark skin kissed by the sun… great ass.

 

He stumbles into my bedroom, where all of this started, to find the rest of his clothes. I walk over to my purse sitting on the kitchen counter, and dig out my phone.

 

1:32 AM.

 

Fuck, it’s late.

 

Two text messages. I try to focus on the words, at least the names to see who they’re from, but my head is just too fucked at the moment to read. I sigh and run a hand through my hair. At least, I tried; my fingers got caught halfway down.

 

Fucking sex hair.

 

Moving to my bathroom to grab a robe, I can hear what’s-his-dick grab his keys, based on the jangling from my room.

 

I’m hoping, no, _praying_ , he doesn’t have anything to say to me. I’m pulling my other arm through the sleeve of my robe, avoiding eye contact when he walks past me.

 

Nothing. He’s looking down at his feet as he goes to the front door to find his shoes. I watch him trying to put his shoes on with intense concentration. As I’m tying my robe around my waist, a part of me sighs in relief. I hate having to have that conversa-

 

“Can I see you again?” Fuck, there he goes.

 

His heels are sticking out of his sneakers, keys in one hand, his other hand on the doorknob. A dopey drunk frown is plastered on his face.

 

I’m too goddamn drunk to deal with this. I cross my arms loosely, look up and away with hooded eyes, and shake my head. Taking my answer reluctantly, he sighs and walks out the door. He closes it quietly behind him. See ya, I guess.

 

After locking the door behind him, I walk into my room to survey the damage caused by tonight’s fun. Not too bad, I find. Sheets are strewn all over, a couple of items are knocked off my dresser. I look over at my clock, and in big neon green symbols it tells me that I am up way too late. Neat.

 

I sigh, feeling my robe slump down onto my left shoulder. I grab my hairbrush and open my bedroom curtains to peek outside.

 

I can hear the faint sounds of the busy nightlife of XYZ City through the window. Sirens, car horns, drunks shouting into the night. I love it. Staring at the skyline, I begin to brush my hair, trying to detangle those stupid knots on the back of my head. If I don’t, they’re just going to get worse when I sleep. It’s happened enough for me to know better.

 

Some of me always wonders if anyone ever watches me when I stand next to my window like this, brushing my hair with nothing but a short robe on… But it would be doubtful this late at night. I quickly scan the ground, but there’s no one visible with half the street lights out. I look up to the apartment building across the street, checking for any lights in my neighbors’ windows. Nothing, as usual. I go back to brushing my hair. I’ve finally gotten the big knots out, so I decide to just brush my hair and enjoy the evening air.

 

But then… what’s that? A circular flash of red catches my eye across the way, which then fizzles out into a dull orange-yellow glow. Like… a cigarette.

 

Am I seeing things? I blink a couple of times to remove the drunken haze from my eyes. It’s the fourth floor, directly across from my own apartment. But… that apartment has been vacant for months… (Someone was murdered in there, don’t you know?) I continue to brush my hair to feign to this stranger (ghost?) that I haven’t noticed them, but I’m determined to watch it move again. I hope that someone’s just moved in…

 

There it goes again! The light moves up to what I assume is the stranger’s mouth, glows a bright red as they take a long drag, and then dims again as they lower it from their mouth. A-Are they watching me? I tell myself that I’m drunk and they probably have no idea that I’m here, but my curiosity gets the best of me.

 

I blink a couple more times to remove my drunken stupor, trying to see who it is. I can barely make out an outline of a person through the thick darkness. Maybe a bit heavy set… Male, perhaps?

 

A bright red eye opens and stares right at me, right _through_ me. Blood-crimson, and glowing like the burning fires in hell. I can feel a lump form in my throat. W-What the…?

 

I recoil back, and immediately whip my curtains together, breathing heavy and grasping my chest to try to calm my heart rate.

 

A beat passes before my thoughts are recollected, and my heart settles back into my chest.

 

Holy shit. That was scary.


	2. Tomato Paste

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you like it, I'll post more.

My head. My head huuuuuurts.

 

I’m awake, and man am I feeling last night. I slowly open my eyes, blinded by the midday sun beaming through the slit between my curtains. My eyes adjust to the brightness, and I reach my left arm around my bed for my phone. Wh-Where…?

 

It’s still in my kitchen from last night! Noooo, now I have to get up. I suck in a deep breath and give my arms and legs a good stretch before rolling out of bed.

 

I take a look at myself in my mirror: makeup smeared from last night, left tit hanging out of my black nightie, deep and dark circles under my eyes. I groan and make my way into my kitchen.

 

After grabbing a glass out of the cupboard and filling it with water, I take a couple of huge glugs to wash out my liver from last night.

 

Now where is my phone… Ah! There, still on the counter from last night. The battery is low, but it’s still on. I scroll through all the junk emails on the lock screen, finally finding the two texts I received last night.

 

**_Be safe you know?_ **

 

**_he looked sleazy, use protection!!!!!_ **

 

Ah, just my girlfriends looking out for me. I wonder if they got lucky too… I text them both the same reply, telling them that I’m safe and sound. I’m suddenly aware of the various fluids caked onto my thighs and ass, and I deem it time for a shower. I mindlessly look over to the glass French doors of my balcony to steal a glance of the cool day, and my stomach drops when I see that the curtains are open.

 

My mind races back to last night, that stranger smoking across the street… They couldn’t have seen me when I was getting nailed by that guy… C-Could they?

 

The kitchen table is right in front of my balcony, and with the right lighting… No! I rationalize to myself that there’s no way they would have seen me, and there’s no point in even worrying about it after the fact. I make a mental note to ensure that the curtains are closed next time I bring someone home, and walk to my bathroom to start my shower.

 

The water hisses as I turn the showerhead on. As I’m waiting for the water to heat up, I carefully peel off my panties and nightie, watching myself in the vanity mirror. Completely naked, I do a once-over on my body. No bruises from last night, but a couple of scratches on my hips from that guy’s nails. They were tender to the touch, but hadn’t broken skin. What a shame.

 

I pin my long strawberry hair to the top of my head, leaving just a few small tendrils hanging down by my ears. I stand back and look at the rest of my body. I’m not thin, but I’m not heavy either… Truly an average body type. I flex my arms a bit, thinking that maybe I should hit the gym to buff up a little bit.

 

My breasts were probably my favorite part about myself. Fair-skinned and naturally large, yet perky, with dainty light pink areolas pressing into the tip like a delicious cherry on top of a scoop of ice cream. Traveling up my chest and shoulders are little patches of freckles from my days out in the sun.

 

Looking back up at my face, I can’t believe how dark the circles are under my emerald green eyes. Fuck. I look like I haven’t slept in days. I stretch and paw at my face with my fingertips, watching my lips and cheeks contort. My lips… crusty and dry, probably from sleeping all night with my mouth open.

 

I surmise the water has to be hot judging from the mirror fogging up already, and hop in.

 

The scalding water pours down my back, washing away my sins from the night before. As I use my soap to make sure they’re good and scrubbed away, my runaway train of thought drifts to that… person.

 

The red glowing eye? There’s no way that was real. Just some hallucination… Was I drugged? I don’t feel any different from the other hangovers I’ve had… Maybe I was just _that_ fucking drunk… again…

 

Thinking back, going to bars and clubs is all that I find enjoyment in lately. Working a desk job practically 70 hours a week started to drain me physically and mentally, but then I started to go out with friends more often. I felt that I could actually let go and have fun when I went out dancing and drinking. In fact, one night stands and drinking practically to the point of blacking out has been my social life for the past 4 months. The men grinding on my ass under flashing strobe lights, worshipping my body and begging me to take them home. That’s the best part. I have to admit, I love the attention and the excitement it brings. Even the monsters that have recently emerged from the Underground try to hit on me when I’m out in slutty clothes and makeup, and I love it…

 

I sigh out loud as the realization suddenly hits me. I’m getting tired of it, of everything. The terrible hangovers, the meaningless sex with randos… Maybe I should try sleeping with a monster… Heh, good one, X. I doubt I could bring myself to sleep with one. That would be _really_ weird… right?

 

I twist the shower knob a couple of times, and the shower gradually recedes. Surrounded by a thick cloud of steam, I psych myself up for my day. Sunday, time for the supermarket.

 

I dry off, brush my teeth (holy _shit_ my breath stinks like _ass_ ), and get dressed. I check the list, take the last of my bottle of painkillers. I add those to the list, too. I grab my keys, wallet, and phone— wait, 3% battery… I decide to keep it at my apartment to charge instead. I throw my keys and wallet into my purse, and grab my collared peacoat from my entryway closet.

 

I pull it on quickly, and I’m out the front door.

 

Walking out of my apartment building, a chilled stiff breeze immediately crashes into me. The November sun is brighter than I thought it would be, making me realize that now would be a good time to dig out some sunglasses from my purse… the dark ones.

 

While I’m getting used to the dimmer light thanks to the oversized designer frames, something nags in the back of my mind. It’s telling me to look up at the building across from mine.

 

I think of that burning red eye. _Their_ building.

 

Slowly looking up, I see a woman on her second floor balcony. She’s humming softly and looks to be setting a pastry outside to cool in the late autumn air, but if I look up even more…

 

What am I doing? Stop it!

 

I hesitate for a moment.

 

Curiosity takes the best of me. I need to see if someone’s there. I glance briefly at the fourth floor balcony from last night, hoping that the stranger isn’t there looking back at me again. I can see through the wrought-iron bars. There’s an ashtray, still smoking. T-That person… had just been…?

 

Goddamn it! Just stop it, already! I shake my head and tell myself to _stop doing this_. I push my sunglasses further up the bridge of my nose, pull the collar on my coat up to keep the cold from nipping at my neck, and spin on my heel to begin my walk to the store.

 

* * *

 

Looking at the last of the items on my grocery list, I notice that I need some hot sauce since I ran out the last time I made bloody Mary’s for the girls. Pulling my basket closer to my hip, I count the aisles on my way to the condiment section. Here it is, aisle—

 

“Ooof!” I’m suddenly knocked to the ground, vaguely aware of bumping into something. My basket falls with me, most of the items spilling out. I begin my apologies before I even look up to see who I bumped into: “I-I’m so sorr—“

 

“watch where you’re fucking going, _human_.”

 

A tall skeleton is staring down at me, a sharp and toothy grin spread across his face. I-Is that a gold tooth?

 

My eyes dart back down, avoiding eye contact with the monster, and I start gathering my things back into my basket. He’s so intimidating, I just stare at the ground and continue apologizing up and down, practically begging for forgiveness. I briefly imagine he’s going to eat me alive in front of the whole store. I’ve really fucked up. “I’m sorry, sir, I-I didn’t see you, I—”

 

A low chuckle erupts from the skeleton, interrupting my string of pleas for mercy. He places his foot on a bottle of painkillers that had started rolling towards him after my basket spilled. I see him slowly stoop down and pick it up, but I keep grabbing everything else that fell out.

 

“heh, wow,” he chuckles softly. “maximum strength, huh? must have been sooome night.” His gruff voice sends a shiver down my spine. I stand up slowly, trying to bring myself to look up at him again. I gradually bring my gaze up from his high top sneakers, his long black shorts with red accents, his red shirt layered under a fur-trimmed black jacket, and finally… his eye sockets, white eyes in a black void glaring back at me. He’s…

 

What the fuck? He’s carrying an armful of several different varieties of mustard.

 

“Mmm, yeah, you could say that, I guess…” I mumble weakly.

 

“you look like shit, kid,” he chuckles. He tosses the bottle into my basket. “although, i’m impressed. a curvy redhead like you…” His eyes scan my body, no doubt undressing me from my jeans and quarter-sleeve top in his imagination.

 

“i’m sure you know how to have a _good time_.” He leans in close to me, and I can smell the putrid scent of stale cigarettes and sweat on him. I try not to gag, but he pulls away when a loud shout erupts from behind him.

 

“SANS! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?”

 

The skeleton glances behind himself towards the source of the shout. “i’m over here, boss,” he responds casually. An even taller, thin skeleton appears down the aisle, and he’s just as menacing-looking. Sharp teeth, battle armor, his midriff exposing… just a backbone. An actual _skeleton_. He has his own basket full of vegetables and what looks like several boxes of dried pasta.

 

“DON’T RUN OFF LIKE THAT, YOU WRETCHED CRETIN!” the taller skeleton continues, waving his fist in an empty threat.

 

The skeleton with the gold tooth shrugs, motioning towards his various bottles of mustard. “just getting the essentials to save some time, boss.”

 

“COMING HERE WAS _YOUR_ IDEA, REMEMBER?” the taller of the skeletons hisses. “YOU’RE NOT GOING TO LEAVE ME ALONE TO FIND THIS… THIS…” he squints a bit at a sheet of paper in his skeletal hand. “TOMATO… PASTE?” He looks at the other skeleton puzzlingly. “HOW IS THAT _ANY_ DIFFERENT FROM _PULVERIZING_ THE TOMATOES?” he asks skeptically.

 

The skeleton I ran into begins to reply, walking a step away from me and towards his… employer, I guess? I’m wondering if he’s forgotten about me. Maybe I can slip away unnoticed. I start to slowly back away while they chat, talking about a… pasta sauce recipe? It seems so bizarre to listen to such terrifying creatures talk about domestic topics. I finally feel that I can escape completely unnoticed, so I turn around and start walking toward the check-out. Forget the hot sauce, I can live without it.

 

“hey red, where ya think yer goin’?” I feel his boney hand grab my wrist, turning me around to face him. It’s oddly warm for a creature lacking the biological processes required for thermoregulation.

 

All I can do is stutter like an idiot. “I… I, um…” _Real_ fucking smooth, X.

 

“SANS! LEAVE THE HUMAN ALONE, WE MUST CONTINUE OUR SEARCH FOR THE TOMATO PASTE,” the “Boss” shouts. He’s really fucking loud, actually. Not what I’m all about with today’s hangover.

 

The skeleton (named Sans?) rolls his eyes, but I’m pulled closer to him through some kind of invisible force. What…?

 

My nose is inches away from his skull, my heart is beating out of my chest, and I can feel sweat dripping down my back.

 

I’m _petrified_.

 

He leans over my shoulder, breathing into my ear in a low voice, “let me know if you want to have a _really_ good time.” He presses something into my back pocket, not once looking away from me, and his hand lingers around my ass as he gives it a gentle squeeze.

 

I stumble backwards as he pushes me away roughly. He takes one last glare at me, an evil smile spread across his face, and turns around to follow his boss with his armful of various mustards.

 

I’m stiff as a board, watching the skeletons until they turn down an aisle. Time stands still. I can’t think, I can’t… Where am I?

 

I’m brought back to reality as someone touches my shoulder, turning me back around. A cashier, I think. They look really worried.

 

“Are you okay?” he asks in a quiet tone.

 

I nod. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

 

He looks over my shoulder. “Disgusting monsters… I can’t believe the owner lets them in here. Something about money being green no matter who has it, or something. They’re a menace to everyone, if you ask me.” He pauses. “Are you ready to check out?”

 

I nod again, looking at my basket.

 

“Then let’s get you out of here.”


	3. What it Feels Like

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awe, thanks for the kudos guys! Here's an extra chapter, but I probs won't update again for the next couple of days unless I feel like I really really have to.

I’m fucked up. 

 

The whole way back to my apartment with my bag of groceries, I just can’t stop thinking about what just happened.  The big skeleton, the look in his eye…  He _hit_ on me.  _Hard_.  I’m trying to reason with myself that what just happened was not extremely…  hot. 

 

 _Fuck_.  A fucking _monster_?  Am I absolutely fucking _crazy_? 

 

But… Something about the way he touched me, the way he…

 

 _No._   I did _not_ feel aroused from that.  There’s no way!  He’s a monster, and I’m a human.  That shit is really taboo, like sleeping with your brother.  I just can’t…

 

My mind drifts to the object placed into my back pocket.  I haven’t checked what he slipped in there yet.  As I’m walking, I can feel my ass repeatedly press against the lump.  It feels like… a piece of paper?  What could it say…?  Part of me is terrified, but the other part can’t wait to look at it. 

 

I despise myself. 

 

* * *

 

 

After the groceries are put away, I go to check on my phone charging in my room.  Oh?  A text, from Brittany.

 

_**going out again 2nite, Lenny’s @10?** _

I have to work tomorrow, but… After today, I just really need a drink.  I press my hand to my back pocket, feeling whatever he slipped back there…  I-I can’t look at it right now.  Maybe if I went out…  I glance at my alarm clock on my bedside table. 

 

4:00 PM.  Just enough time for a nap and a bite to eat.  I can look at it with the girls… they’ll want to know about today… Fuck it.  I type back a reply.

 

_**Here I come, cirrhosis.** _

 

Without looking, I dig the paper out of my pocket and throw it into my purse. 

 

I really need a fucking drink after today.

 

* * *

 

 

“ _What_?”  Serena looks at me, her eyes wide and mouth agape.  I’m already shitfaced, but apparently I can still recount my story pretty well.  “What the hell did it say?”

 

“I don’t know; I-I was too much of a pussy to read it on my own, so I wanted to read it with you guys.  Hold on, let me find it…”  I slur, reaching for my purse to find the piece of paper. 

 

“That sounds like something you’d read in a really bad _fanfiction_ ,” Brittany coos, stirring her pineapple skewer into whatever drink she had tonight. 

 

“I _know_ ,” I yelp in agreement, maybe a bit too loudly.  I feel the paper slip between my fingers, and slam it against the table with both of my palms covering it.  “O-Okay, you guys ready?” 

 

“Just read it already, X.”  Brittany has never been one for suspense.

 

I stare at my hands.  I don’t know if I’m too drunk or too scared to lift my hand up. 

 

“Well?”

 

“I… I can’t,” I admit, pushing the paper across the table to Serena.  “You read it!”  I put my head down onto the table in disgrace.

 

Serena reaches for the slip, but Brittany beats her to it.  “Come on, X.  You’re the iron-willed chick that scares most of the bartenders here, and this skeleton monster guy has you fucked up like this?”  I can hear her rolling her eyes.

 

I look up as she glances at the slip nonchalantly.  Then she smiles.  She grins a shit-eating grin.  Then she laughs.  I lift my head up.  “ _What_?”

 

Serena leans against her to try to peek at what it says.  “Come on, let me see!”  Brittany stifles her laughter, handing it to her between her index and middle finger.

 

A moment passes as she reads it.  She puts her hand to her mouth, giggling to herself.  “I know, _right_?” Brittany scoffs.

 

I’m getting impatient.  “ _What_ _the_ _fuck_ _does_ _it_ _even_ _say_?”  I shout.  Serena looks at Brittany, who nods, and she slides the paper back over to me.  I pick it up and squint to look at the small, handwritten text. 

 

**_wanna bone? 555 555 5555_ **

****

I blurt out laughing.  No, I’m maniacally cackling.  I’m crying.  I can’t… Oh my _God_ that’s just _too_ _fucking_ _hilarious_. 

 

“He’s a fucking _skeleton_ and he—Oh my _God_!”  Brittany chuckles as she bites her straw. 

 

“I say you should text him.”  Brittany and I both stop laughing, our eyes digging into Serena like she just told us she had killed someone.  She notices our glances.  “What?”

 

“Are you fucking _insane_?  He’d probably kill her and then _eat her_!” Brittany defends. 

 

“Yeah, after he does weird shit to me with his monster dick,” I chime in. 

 

“Does a skeleton even _have_ a dick?” Brittany ponders sincerely.

 

“Stop it, guys!” Serena is adamant.  “That’s a stupid, corny-ass pun with harmless casual sex implied.  X, you know damn well that if any other guy in here had given that to you, you’d be texting him your address _right_ _now_.”  She presses her index finger on the table twice for emphasis.

 

I bit my lip.  She’s right. 

 

“Besides…” Serena looks at me with hooded eyes, a coy smile spread across her face.  “Aren’t you the least bit curious about what it feels like?”

 

I can feel my cheeks burn in hot embarrassment.  Monsters and humans have been known to—uh, well… _do the do_ —since they first surfaced a little over a year ago.  It’s well-known to be possible, but hardly socially accepted.  I stare at the slip of paper in my hand, reading it over and over again, thinking about this menacing skeleton taking the time to write something so fucking _cheesy_. 

 

I’m brought back to earlier that day.  The way he looked at me, it was like his mind was coming up with new sins to commit with me as each second ticked by.  He was imagining every lewd act he wanted to do to my frail human body if he had his way with me, I could feel it in my instincts.  D-Does he even have…?  I…  Fuck, I…

 

“I can’t, you guys.  That’s just too weird.”

 

“Yeah, if you want to fuck monsters so much, why don’t _you_ text him?”  Brittany glares down at Serena. 

 

Serena grins.  “Okay.”  She quickly snatches my cell phone from my purse, and before I can stop her, she’s opened up the messaging app.

 

“Oh my fucking God, what the actual _fuck_ are you _doing?_ ” I drunkenly scream at her.  But… I’m not doing anything to stop her.

 

“Shut up.”  She grabs the slip of paper from my hand and I can hear the gentle taps of the keyboard typing.

 

I look up at Brittany for help, who looks back at me with a shrug and a smile.

 

“There!”  I can hear the send audio.  My heart drops into my stomach.  She slides my phone back to me on the table.  “You can thank me later.”

 

“What did you even say?” Brittany asks with genuine curiosity.  I look down at my phone, the message staring me in the face.

 

**_BONE’T think it’s going TIBIA that easy_ **

 

I stare at my friends in pure horror as they practically double over laughing, and I down the rest of my drink in shame.  Only thing left to do is wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an fyi, I'm so ashamed yet proud of my puns. This is fun to do.


	4. Out There

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck it, I caved. I'm really happy with how this is turning out, so here's another chapter. Feel free to leave a comment, I love comments. <3

He’s sucking on my neck as I fumble through my purse for my keys.  “Come on, babe, hurry it up,” he insists, pressing his crotch into my body. 

 

Some greasy guy was eyeballing me in the bar.  Mid-twenties, black hair, average build.  I think he said his name was Steven… Seth?  Fuck, I’m terrible at names.  After he bought me a drink (or two? I don’t remember), he asked that very familiar question: “Wanna get out of here?”

 

I can hardly focus between his kisses and my inebriated state of mind.  Finally, I hear the lock turn and I’m inside.  He’s pushed me against the door to slam it shut, making me drop my purse to the ground, and starts pulling my leggings down from underneath my skirt. 

 

We’re fucking ready to dive into each other.  He tentatively rubs my engorged clit with his index and middle finger, making me moan in drunken pleasure.  “No panties, huh?  What a slut…”  He grunts excitedly, and slides his two fingers into my dripping cunt.  I gasp sharply at the new sensation, gripping his shoulders and weakly trying to pull his jacket off.  He kisses me roughly, pumping his fingers inside me like a man that really knows what he’s doing.  Jackpot.

 

“God, you’re so fucking wet,” he groans into my ear.  He looks around for what I guess would be my bedroom, but something catches his eye.  “Yo… Is that a balcony?”

 

My eyes blink out of sync as I look at him, then my kitchen balcony.  “Huh?  Y-Yeah?”

 

He grins devilishly, and growls, “Let’s do it out there.”

 

I’m so drunk, I just nod in agreement.  Wait… What did just he say? 

 

I’m led to the balcony door, which he slides open with ease.  It’s a bit too cold outside for me since I’m only wearing a skirt and some thin leggings, but then again we still have our clothes and coats on.  He looks around to see if anyone is awake.  I’m so out of it, I can’t see for myself, but I imagine it’s too late for most people to be up on a Sunday night. 

 

He gently pushes me against the railing, my skirt lifted over my ass.  I hear him unzip his pants behind me and fumble around for a condom.  After a few seconds of waiting for him to put it on (during which I’m trying not to fall asleep), I feel his hand on my hip. 

 

Then I feel his cock rubbing up and down my pussy, getting it wet.  “Here goes,” he mutters before plunging his cock into my hot pussy.  I practically scream in pleasure, my breath creating a small puff of vapor in the air, but he reaches forward and clasps his hand over my mouth.  He holds himself inside me, and he leans over my back to whisper, “Shhhh.  Don’t want to wake the neighbors.”

 

Neighbors?  What are those?  The word loses meaning as I’m stuffed full of his cock (relatively bigger than last night, if you ask me).  He begins to pump into me over and over again, grabbing my hips for leverage.  I’m bracing myself against my railing, trying my hardest to keep quiet, but it’s so damn hard.  He’s plunging his cock so deep inside me, I just want to scream and shout and wail and—

 

“F-Fuck!”  I know that tone.  He’s plunged deep inside me, the last few pulses of his orgasm washing over him.  He… He fucking came.  That couldn’t have been longer than 3 minutes.  Disappointed is a mild word for what I’m feeling right now. 

 

He pulls out of me, and I can hear him sigh in relief.  “Thanks for that.” 

 

I turn around, pulling my leggings back up over my ass.  “You’re done?” I slur.  The elastic of the condom snaps when he tugs it off, and he throws it to the ground.

 

“Yep!  Thanks, babe.”  He zips his pants back up, and walks toward my front door.  “See ya around.” 

 

The door shuts loudly, and just like that, it’s over.

 

I’m left just standing on my balcony, freezing cold and left high and dry.

 

I-I’m suddenly sobered from my anger.  What a fucking _jerk_!  I kick over a nearby bucket, the loud bang echoing down the street.

 

I stomp back inside, not even bothering to shut the glass doors.  I’m going to have such a shitty day at work tomorrow, and I didn’t even get satisfied?  What a fucking load of _bullshit_!

 

I lock the front door, furious with that shithead, and fumble around through my purse to find my phone and tell Serena and Brittany that he was a fucki—

 

A text.

 

**_throw me a bone, will ya? who’s this?_ **

****

I stop.  My breathing slowly returns to normal.  I read the text over and over again, trying to comprehend what I’m reading. 

 

The… That... Monster?

 

I’m going to vomit.

 

I can feel it coming up, and the only thing I can think to do is run over to the balcony and barf into the empty bucket.  I’m retching loudly, the burning alcohol and whatever I had for dinner starts coming back up my throat.  Fuck, it hurts. 

 

Leaning back on my knees, I wipe my mouth with my arm and look down at the soiled bucket. 

 

Fuck. 

 

I look over at my phone, still clutched in my hand.

 

_Fuck._

 

I open the messaging app.

 

**_Wow.  Exactly how many chicks have you picked up at the supermarket?_ **

 

I can’t believe I sent that.  I’m talking to him.

 

I stand up slowly and move inside, bringing the bucket with me.  After closing the doors to keep the cool air from raising my heating bill too much, I sit on the stool of my breakfast bar.  I’m looking out to the window with the barf bucket placed in front of me to catch anything else that may come up.

 

My phone buzzes.

 

**_heh, the redhead from the store?_ **

****

I imagine he’s playing coy; he knows damn well who’s texting him.

 

**_Yup!  And you’re the monster with the mustard addiction_ **

****

Buzz.  Such quick replies.  I look at the clock on my phone… 12:46 AM.  Skeletons are nocturnal, apparently.

 

**_says the broad that can’t keep her liquor down_ **

****

I… What?  How did he…?  I look at the vomit bucket.

 

**_What makes you say that?_ **

****

I look outside.  The balcony.  That glow.  _It’s back_. 

 

I watch as a long drag on the cigarette ignites the red-orange glow, barely illuminating his silhouette.  No… It can’t…

 

Another light, a bright white light, appears next to the figure.  It’s a phone.

 

I watch as the light is brought upwards, barely illuminating the figure’s head.  A smiles spreads across their face, and I can see… a golden sparkle.  A tooth?

 

_No._

 

I look down at my phone, then back up at them.  I can faintly make out the motions of their fingers tip-tapping across their screen, typing a message.  I… No.  There’s _no_ _wa_ -

 

Buzz.

 

**_you had a certain look about you.  like your liver deserves better._ **

****

Buzz.

 

**_and so does your pussy, you know_ **

****

Another drag on the cigarette. 

 

It’s him.  The skeleton from the supermarket.

 

 _Sans_.

 

He's my new neighbor, and he's been _watching_ me.

 

I’m fucking speechless.  Horrified.  Terrified.  I look repeatedly between my phone and his balcony, hoping to wake up from some alcohol-induced fever dream somewhere in-between my head movements. 

 

I take a deep-ass breath, and tell myself to calm the _fuck_ down so I don't have a full-fledged panic attack.  My phone sits warm in my trembling hand.

 

**_I treat both with respect, tyvm_ **

****

A beat.  His phone glows.  He picks it up, and he starts typing.

 

Buzz.

 

**_didn’t look that way. you can do better. much better._ **

 

_“Didn’t look that way?”_

 

His cigarette glows one final time, and suddenly the light is launched down to the street.  He’s flicked it away.  He looks back down at his phone.

 

Buzz.

 

**_i bet you didn’t even cum tonight, did you?_ **

****

I hadn’t.  It’s true.  I look up at him once again, and this time I really wish I hadn’t.  That glowing red eye was back, and staring right through me.

 

I nervously pretend to be looking out at the faint city stars, pondering what I should say next.  I feign having an idea, and look back down at my phone.  I steal a glance to his balcony to see what he’s doing now.

 

Nothing.  He’s doing nothing.  He’s… gone.  His apartment is completely dark.

 

Fine.  I’ll play along.  What have you got planned?  The flashing cursor in the text box mocks me as I type my next message. 

 

 _Entertain_ _me_.

 

**_How can you tell that just by bumping into someone at the store?_ **

****

I take a deep sigh, and wait.  My mind is blank. 

 

**_call it… intuition_ **

****

I scoff out loud, and roll my eyes.  Intuition, my ass.  He’s a fucking _voyeur_. 

 

And that’s really fucking _hot_.


	5. Give it a Shot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note:
> 
> The way I'm writing Fell is going to be a bit different from how I always see him portrayed.
> 
> Since this takes place about a year or so after the protagonist of the original game releases everyone from the Underground, I imagine the characters have had to change in order to fit in to human society. 
> 
> In my eyes, Sans is still incredibly smart and powerful, but he isn't as... well, edgy as he is usually portrayed. I like to think I'm developing his character more instead of just sticking to his usual tropes. 
> 
> He has a heart, something he wasn't allowed to let people onto when he lived in the Underground. 
> 
> ...you'll see what I mean in a couple of chapters.

Work _sucks_. 

 

I’m a project manager for a pretty big hospital conglomerate.  Marathons, charity events, patient activities, that sort of thing. 

 

And damn does it pay well.  I really got lucky with this one. 

 

But it truly sucks today.  My interns are being fucking idiots (quelle surprise), and a charity vendor is backing out of an event planned for this very weekend.  This close to Christmas, I’ve got tons of donation and charity shit to take care of, and this is just the icing on the cake of overwhelming priorities.  Talk about a bad case of the Mondays. 

 

I’m staring at my computer screen, desperately searching through my list of approved and repeat vendors to find a last-minute replacement.  The names are starting to look like another language.  I glance at the corner of the screen.  It’s not even noon.  I take a deep breath.

 

Buzz.  My phone?  But who…?

 

**_you free tonight?_ **

****

Sans…

 

I vaguely remember crawling into bed last night and hooking my phone onto my charger, but I don’t think I ever texted him back.  I’m completely sober now… Do I really want to keep this up? 

 

Last night…  I can’t help but think of how exciting it was when I found out someone was watching me get fucked on my balcony, even if he’s… a fucking monster. 

 

I decide I do want to keep this up. 

 

**_Maybe after a nap and a couple of painkillers_ **

****

Buzz.

 

**_let me take you to dinner, or at least buy you a drink_ **

****

I can’t tell if it’s a request or a command. 

 

**_Sure, but no promises._ **

****

I go back to my computer screen and check my email.  Junk.  Junk.  Event date confirmation.  More fucking junk.  I take a gulp of my overpriced coffee: a quad latte.

 

**_i’ll meet you at 8, what’s your address_ **

****

I try my hardest not to snort and blow coffee out my nose as I read his stupid text.  Like he doesn’t _know_.  Cheeky bastard.  I tell him regardless.

 

Buzz.

 

**_heh i don’t live too far from there.  see ya kiddo_ **

****

Of fucking _course_ you don’t.  I’m pretty sure my internal scowl was represented on my face because a coworker knocks lightly on my office door.  “Knock knock.  You okay?”

 

Serena.  “I’m fine,” I mumble through gritted teeth.  “Get in here, and close the door.”  In one smooth motion, she comes in, turns around, and presses the door shut. 

 

“I was just walking to the copier when I noticed your face.  What’s up?  Did that big scary _monster_ ever text back?” she asks sarcastically.

 

Should I tell her the truth?

 

“Yeah.  He wants to meet for drinks tonight.”

 

The whole truth?

 

“That’s about the extent of our conversation,” I continue, deciding to leave out the voyeuristic details.

 

Her eyes light up like a Christmas tree.  “You’re really going to give it a shot?!” 

 

I wince at her shrill voice.  “Jesus Serena, cool it, my head is fucking swimming here.”  She mumbles an apology, and I quietly answer her previous question. “Yeah.  I guess I am.” 

 

I shoot daggers at her with my eyes.  “It’s not like I had a choice in the matter, though.”

 

She chuckles.  “I told you, you’ll thank me later.”  Serena was really kind to all the monsters after they emerged from the Underground, never showing any hint of discrimination towards them.  A couple months after they surfaced, she began working at the hospital as a sort of liaison between humans and monsters, which is how she became one of my best friends.  I’m not yet sold on the validity of the “monsters aren’t a threat” idea, but she’s kept the idea tethered to reality for me. 

 

“Well, let me know how it goes.”  She opens the door again.  “Feel better soon?” She gives a small wave good-bye, and leaves before I can thank her. 

 

I grumble and hold my head in my hands.  Without thinking, I reach in my purse and pull out my flask.  

 

…What?  Just a little sip to help the hangover go away, I promise. 

 

I nervously look through the previous night’s conversation in my phone. 

 

What am I getting myself into?

 

* * *

 

 

_It’s fucking fifteen minutes past eight._

I can’t believe this.  He lives literally right across the street, and he pulls this “fashionably late” crap?  I decided to wait outside my apartment building, just so he thinks I don’t want him knowing what apartment I live in, but now I’m just standing outside against my apartment building, pouring my attention into my phone.

 

I tried to keep it pretty casual, but also cute.  Messy up-do, my business casual work makeup still caked onto my face.  I decided to wear a red flannel shirt over a black tank top, with dark skinny jeans and some sneakers.  It was cool enough to wear my leather jacket, so I brought that along, too.  And then it hit me.

 

_I look like a fucking hipster._

 

I’m trying not to think about how stupid I look when a familiar voice tells me the opposite.

 

“you look nice.”

 

I’m startled, and look up immediately.  It’s him.  Glowing red eye, sharp teeth, hands stuffed into the pockets of his black fur-trimmed coat.

 

I quietly mumble a thank you.

 

“can’t wait what to see what you have under there,” the bastard teases. 

 

“Okay, welp, this was a mistake.  Kindly go fuck yourse—“

 

“no, wait,” he interrupts me, grabbing my wrist tightly.  He sounds more annoyed than anything.  “i’m just having some fun with ya, sweetheart.  let’s go get those drinks.”

 

I look down at my wrist, then up at him.  He gives me an awkward smile, like he’s really trying to… take me on a date?  I sigh, pulling my arm from his grip.

 

“Let’s just get this over with.  Where are we going?”

 

He chuckles.  “you’ll see.”

 

I’m ready for a drink.

 

Our walk is filled with awkward silence for the most part.  I glance up at him when he wasn’t looking, and I noticed a pensive smile on his skull.  What was he thinking?

 

We pass a local coffee shop, or at least I thought we were passing it.  “where ya goin’, sweetheart?  this is it.”

 

I stop in my tracks, and look behind me.  Sans has stopped short of the entrance to the coffee shop, looking at me with his hands in his pockets.   

 

“This isn’t a bar,” I mumble in confusion.

 

“i didn’t say we would go to a bar,” he replies simply, shrugging his shoulders.

 

“You said ‘drinks,’” I started, but realized the fault in my argument after I said it.

 

“never said they had to be alcoholic,” he wags his finger at me like I’m a puppy that just pissed all over the rug.  He walks over to the door, and holds it open for me.  “after you, princess.”

 

He grins that toothy grin, and I can feel his eyes watching my ass as I walk inside.  He comes up behind me and pushes me aside when I begin to tell my order to the barista. 

 

“quad latte,” he starts, “and one of those monster specials you have on your sign out there.”  He chucks his thumb towards the door.  He’s ordering for me?  He knows my coffee order?  How?

 

The barista begins, “Which one? There’s the cinnamon bu—“

 

“i don’t fucking know, surprise me,” Sans grumbles.  He rummages in his pants pocket to find his wallet, slapping a paper bill onto the counter.  “and bring some mustard while yer at it.”

 

The barista seems a bit unnerved, but takes the bill and hands him his change.  Sans looks disgusted to be given money back, and pours it all into the tip jar on the counter.  “keep it,” he mutters, turning away and walking to find a seat. 

 

I can’t tell if he’s being generous or just apathetic.  Probably the latter.  I follow him to a table he picks out.  Quiet, secluded, in the corner.  I feel butterflies swelling in my stomach, like when I gave that speech in high school.

 

I sit down across from the grumpy skeleton, my hands folded together on top of the table, and I wait patiently for him to start the conversation.  After all, _he_ asked _me_ to come out with him.  He opens his jaw like he’s about to say something, but quickly shuts it, like he’s having second thoughts about his word choice.  Hmm…

 

“y’know, red,” he playfully chuckles, like he’s remembering the punchline of a funny joke he heard, “i was gonna  _gut_ _you_ right there in that grocery store yesterday.”

 

What the _fuck_ was he going to say _before_ that?!

 

I try to feign nonchalance.  “Why didn’t you?”

 

“isn’t it obvious?”

 

I shake my head in fake obliviousness. 

 

Sans raises his brow at me, and leans back in his chair.  “look at you, actin’ all innocent and shit.”  He sees right through me.  “you just wanna hear me say it, don’t ya?” 

 

The hot beverages are brought to us by a shaky barista, different from the one taking our order.  She gently sets down the cups and saucers, and places a couple of mustard packets on the table next to Sans.  He doesn’t look away from me once.

 

As she walks away, I take a sip of my coffee to stall for something to say.

 

“i think you’re fuckin’ hot,” he grins, curling his fingers around his coffee mug.

 

His ‘compliment’ takes me by surprise, and I choke a bit on my hot coffee, trying to keep it down my gullet rather than spitting it in the skeleton’s face.  My throat feels like it has second degree burns. 

 

“Th-Thank you,” I manage to hoarsely cough out in response.  “I-I’m glad you can appreciate that.”  Suddenly I am much more aware of my exposed chest, and I cross my arms in front of me so that he can’t see my cleavage.

 

“so i admitted something to you, why don’t you admit something to me?  hm?”

 

“Like _what_?”

 

“like _why_ you replied to my stupid ass pun,” he stifles back a laugh.  “that was a good line, too, _tibia_ honest.”  He winks at me playfully.

 

I can feel my cheeks heat up from embarrassment.  “I-I didn’t, my friend did.” 

 

He looks surprised.  “oh yeah?”

 

“Yeah, we were at a bar when I read it.”  Silence from him, I guess that means he wants me to keep talking.  “I said I thought it would be weird to… do _that_ with a monster, but then she asked me if I had ever wondered…”  I trail off.

 

Fuck.  I’ve really fucked up.

 

“go on.  what did she ask you, sweetheart?”

 

I gulp nervously, feeling just like a cartoon character.  “She… She asked me if I’d ever w-wondered… what… wh—“

 

“what it feels like to _fuck_ a monster?” he loudly interjects, then chuckles loudly to himself.  I can feel the other patrons’ eyes on us, only a couple of humans, but they’re ready to jump him if he attacks me.

 

I never expected myself to feel so intimidated by someone, but this guy… He’s something else.

 

“what did you say, then?” Sans looks deep into my eyes, no doubt searching for my answer before he makes me give it to him.  I look away quickly.  “haha,” he chuckles after a beat, “i won’t make you tell me.”

 

Mercy!

 

“what I really wanna know is your name.  i like callin' ya red, but i wanna know my options.”

 

My name?  I guess we haven’t actually introduced ourselves to each other.  “X.  My name is X.” 

 

He inhales deeply, sighing my name a couple of times, tasting it on his tongue.  “that’s beautiful 'n' all, but i think i'm just gonna keep callin' ya red.”  He pauses.  “my name is sans.  sans the skeleton,” he declares as he outstretches his right hand for a handshake.

 

I take a moment to look at his hand, all ivory and… boney, but I take it in my right hand and squeeze it as hard as I can.  I resolve that I will _not_ be intimidated. 

 

“quite a grip you got there,” he notices.  “can’t wait to feel it when you’re…” he trails off, perhaps lost in dirty thoughts.  It’s probably for the better that he doesn’t finish.

 

“So, _Sans_ …”

 

“keep saying my name, doll face, see where it gets you.”

 

I clear my throat, and decide to ignore his comment. 

 

“You said you don’t live too far from me.  Where might that be?”  I flutter my eyelashes a bit, looking up at him with big doe eyes.

 

He recoils slightly, the smug grin wiped off his face for just a brief moment as he tries to come up with a response.  It then returns in full force.  “doesn’t matter,” he jeers.  “why, you tryin’ to come over for a good _bonin’_?  on our _first_ _date_?”  He shakes his head in mock disappointment.  “what kind of skeleton do you take me for?”  His voice is dripping with indignant sarcasm.

 

The kind that likes to watch his neighbors fuck, apparently.

 

I press on.  “Do you always have stupid puns like that written and ready to give to the next innocent girl that bumps into you?”

 

He laughs.  “ _i_ _nnocent_?  what makes you think you’re so innocent?”  He’s avoiding my question.  “honey, as soon as i saw you, i knew you were _far_ from innocent.”

 

He’s right.  I’m a sinner, through and through.  But then I remember that I’m pretty sure the first time he saw me was when I was bent over my kitchen table, getting rammed by some rando from a bar.  He can’t tell me that to keep up his ruse.  I got him cornered this time.  “Oh yeah?  How so?”

 

He takes a moment to let the sight of me wash over him, a dainty little human pressing her cold hands onto her warm ceramic cup of coffee.  I can see the lust in his eyes. 

 

“i told ya already.  you have this certain look about you.  i can’t quite put my finger on it…”  Sans taps his index finger against his chin as he says this, falsely pondering what he wants to say.  He looks down at his finger, and then shoots a devilish grin at me.  He continues, “…but i want to do so much more to you than with just my finger.”

 

I-Is it hot in here, or is it just me? 

 

I’m suddenly aware that I’m squirming in my seat, trying to hold in these stupid feelings swelling up inside me.  I can’t stop looking into his eyes, like I’m reading a steamy adult fiction novel where every single lascivious act he wishes to do to me is spelled out on paper.  I can see whips and handcuffs, feathers and blindfolds… A spiked collar fitted around my neck… 

 

No!  There’s no way this _monster_ is the sort of excitement I’ve been looking for.  Maybe I can start rock climbing, or take a pottery class, or—or—

 

Blood is pumping through my cheeks, making them pink with warm blush, and I can feel my heart beating in my ears.  He notices my discomfort.  “awww,” he coos, and grips my chin gently with his boney hand.  “is the party girl _blushing_?” 

 

“ _No_!”  I lie, trying to look away.  I’m in denial.  I need to get a grip on myself.  I’m feeling like putty in his hands.  This is _not_ who I am. 

 

I swat his hand away from my face, freeing myself from his grasp and standing up from my seat with my palms pressed against the table.  He starts to protest, but I cut him off, “It won’t be that easy, you prick.  I’m _not_ easy.”  I’m trying to convince myself more than anything.

 

I look down at my coffee, now lukewarm, and decide it’s not worth it.  I turn on my heels and quickly storm out of the coffee shop, with Sans still sitting at the table.  All he does is sigh heavily, just seeming annoyed.  He’s not going after me?

 

I’m out the door, the little bell on top chiming to indicate that I’m free.  I take a moment to take in my surroundings, and start walking home.

 

“H-Hey!” I shout as I can feel a hand grab the back of my jacket, pulling me into an alley adjacent to the coffee shop.  A body is pinning me against the brick wall, their right arm above my shoulder and left hand grabbing a fistful of my shirt collar.  It’s Sans.  “What—  How did you—  I—“

 

“take a chill pill, red.”  Telling me to calm down just makes me want to scream for help.  His expression softens a bit when he sees me still struggling against his grip.  “listen, kid…  i don’t want to hurt you, or rape you, or whatever it is you’re scared of.  i just want…”  He trails off, seemingly conflicted on what to say.  He loosens his grip on my shirt collar.

 

“look,” he finally decides, his expression hardening again as he brings his eyes up to meet mine.  “humans are absolutely disgusting...  they're all parasitic creatures that deserve to _die_ , regardless of how big their tits are.”  He looks down to my chest, and I can feel the blush swell into my cheeks again.  “i truly do not give one flying fuck about what happens to the rest of your race, but you…”  He leans towards me, his eye sockets intense. 

 

“ _y_ _o u ’ r e  d i f f e r e n t.”_

 

I’m surprised.  I had always considered myself a dirty, sinning piece of shit just like everyone else, if not more so.  “What makes me so special?” I ask skeptically.

 

His face scrunches into a sort of surprise, hesitating at what he wants to say.  He opens his mouth to reply, but not before he's interrupted by a loud buzzing noise coming from his coat pocket.

 

“what the…?” He puts up a finger to me as he pulls his vibrating phone out of his pocket to see who it is.  He reads the caller ID and sighs.  “one sec, hot stuff.”

 

He presses the accept call button, and holds the phone up to his… well, where his ear would be if he wasn’t—

 

“SANS!” He winces and holds the phone an arm’s length away from his face as his speaker screams at him.  His face becomes coated in droplets of sweat, and blushes slightly (odd coming from an intimidating skeleton). He tries to turn the volume on his phone all the way down, and steps away from me a few paces to keep his conversation private, I suppose.

 

He finally gets it low enough, but I can still hear the voice on the other side.  It's obviously the skeleton from the supermarket, the one he called “Boss”.  Sans is doing nothing but mumbling small affirmatives.  “uh-huh, yeah, yup, uh-huh, you got it, boss…”  He finally turns back to me and puts his phone back into his pocket.  He looks… mildly disappointed? 

 

“sorry to cut this party short, but I'm needed elsewhere.”  That cocky gleam in his eye returns.  “let’s cut to the chase.  you wanna know what i want, sweetheart?”  He pauses as if waiting for my answer, but continues before I can think of something to say.  “i want _you_.”

 

My heart stops.

 

“and i know you want me, too…  you just won’t admit it to yourself.” 

 

I… I…

 

“i’m a total sucker for broads that are ‘hard to get’, drives me crazy when they keep saying no.  it’s a fun little game.”  He pauses when he sees the concern in my eyes.  “don’t you worry; i’m gonna play this game fair and square, but rest assured: i won’t stop until you’re _all mine_.

 

“oh!  and one more thing…” he coos at me.  “i  _know_ you're curious about how _it_ feels, so let me…”  He chuckles softly, moving closer to me.  “give you a hint.” 

 

My stomach fills with butterflies again, and slowly he lifts my chin up with his index finger.  His red eye flares inside his eye socket.  He’s staring right into my very soul, his mouth curled into a lascivious smile, and suddenly he sticks out a red glowing tongue:  long, and tapered at the end.  H-He has a fucking tongue?  I-I… What?

 

He slowly leans over my shoulder and gives my neck a long, sensual lick, starting from my collarbone to just under my jaw, leaving a trail of pink-tinged saliva.  I close my eyes and moan involuntarily at his touch, feeling what I assume to be tinges of magic popping against my sensitive skin.  My body is betraying me as my back arches and I clutch his jacket, trying to pull myself closer to him.  I’m absolutely floored by how good just a simple lick could feel, giving no regard to being out in public.  His intoxicating scent of sweat mixed with the remnants of cigarette smoke works on me like a Pavlovian response:  I can actually feel myself getting wet…. _Fuck._  This is the most turned on that I’ve been in weeks.

When he stops, my brain is fuzzy and my knees are weak.  I don’t let go of him until I’m sure that I can stand up on my own.  Looking up at him, I find that I have to keep myself from begging for more like a starving child.  As if he's read my mind, he teases me: “want more?  come and get it.”  That cocky grin is driving me crazy.

 

Pulling away from me, he asks, “i’ll hear from you, won't i, princess?”  I hope it’s a rhetorical question since all I can really muster is a small mumble.  He walks away, down the alley and turning a corner, leaving me to stew in my conflicted feelings.  I sink further into the collar of my jacket.  H-How was _that_ “fair and square”?

 

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding in cliche 80's song lines. Can you spot them?
> 
> More sex is coming soon, promise. First he has to court you.


	6. Scared Little Bitch

The next day at work was less than eventful.  I kept expecting some kind of message from Sans, but he never sent anything.  As much as I hate to say it, I’m disappointed.

 

7:30 PM.  I’m lying in bed, my dinner half eaten in a takeout box on my nightstand, trying to work on some shit I should have finished in my office earlier today.  I couldn’t concentrate.  He’s driving me crazy with… with… fuck!  I don’t even know!  Anger?  Lust?  A combination, probably, which makes me even _more_ angry. 

 

There’s no way I’m falling for some fucking _monster_.  Even if I _was_ , there’s no way he’d want to get serious with a human.  We can’t get married with current laws, or even have the kids I’ve never even wanted in the first place. 

 

…I want the option, though! 

 

This is a dead end shit-show, and I need to shut it down, _fast._

I should just break it off now.  Tell him I never want to see him again.  I can move away, and file a restraining order… However much good that would do.

 

I pick up my phone, determined to fuck up his plans to woo me.

 

My thumbs hover over the keyboard pulled up on my screen.

 

…

 

I’m just staring at the screen.

 

…

 

Do it, you fucking bitch!

 

…

 

I can’t.

 

I admit it: I want to see this through.  I’ve never felt the way he made me feel yesterday, and that was just from his tongue.  I can only imagine what the rest of him feels like…

 

I’ve made up my mind.  I’ll play his game, but I’m going to have my own fun.

 

**_Friday. Movie. Pick me up at 7.  Don’t be late this time_ **

 

* * *

 

The rest of the week drags along at a snail’s pace, but finally Friday night rolls around.

 

Standing in my bedroom mirror, I decide I’m satisfied.

 

I wanted to send the right message with my clothes, so I planned them out carefully while I was stuck at work.  A low-cut black top, showing just enough cleavage to tempt the eyes but still leave enough to the imagination.  I also decided on wearing my gently torn, light-colored skinny jeans, and my feet are slipped into some casual black pumps. 

 

I spent at least a half an hour on my eyeliner alone, trying to go for a healthy porn star look.  My lips are covered in a red, red lipstick to show off my pouty expressions.  My hair… he doesn’t deserve to see it down, just yet.  A messy bun to signify that I’m reserved, yet apathetic. 

 

I’m ready.

 

I look at the clock on my nightstand.  6:59 PM.

 

He’d better not be la—

 

There’s a knock at my door. 

****

“Coming!”  I take one last look in the mirror, quickly pulling at the ringlets of hair next to my ears.  I walk through my apartment and find the front door.  I take a deep breath.  Here I go. 

 

Opening the door, I find that the monster standing in front of me is not the same monster that pinned me to a wall earlier this week.  Sans stands in front of me, one hand behind his back, with sweat beading all over his skull.  A nervous smile bares his golden tooth and the rest of his sharp teeth, and his gaze moves to his feet.

 

He clears his throat.  “h-hey, i-i uh…” 

 

“Sans,” is all that I say.

 

He digs his sneaker into the floor, his gaze still lowered.  His face contorts as he tries to think of something else to say, but he can’t seem to find the words. 

 

Awkward silence. 

 

He sticks out the hand from behind his back, which is clutching an absolutely _enormous_ bouquet of flowers.  “h-here,” he manages to spit out.

 

I’m honestly surprised, and a bit flattered.  “Flowers?”  I carefully take them from him, cradling the bouquet in my arm like a baby.  Looking down at the bouquet, I knew this wasn’t some cheap grocery store flower arrangement…  A bit overkill for just a second date, right? 

 

Then again, I don’t think I’ve ever gotten flowers from a suitor before.  Giving flowers to someone has become more of an antiquated tradition that’s been left almost exclusively for holidays. 

 

“yeah, you gonna say fucking _thank_ _you_ or _what_ you fucking _bi—_ ” he starts to hiss at me, but he catches himself.  “i—i mean… _f-f_ _lower_ you doing tonight?”  He’s blushing, but with a scowl on his face.  I don’t know what to make of him.

 

I sigh, rolling my eyes.  “Come in, shithead,” I fall back into my apartment, leaving the door open for him to follow me.  “I’ll be just another couple of minutes, and I gotta find a vase for these.” 

 

I can hear him shuffle through my door, and gently close it.  “just like a fuckin’ lady, never ready on time,” he grumbles.  As I look through my cupboards for something to put the flowers in, I can see him out of the corner of my eye.  He’s very nosey, looking around at all the items on my bookshelves and the pieces of art I have strewn across my walls.

 

“So what movie are we going to see?” I ask as I find a deep bowl to put the flowers in, since I doubt I’ll find an actual vase.  I begin to unwrap the flowers, looking up at him for his reply.

 

“i don’t fuckin’ know, red.  whatever you want to see,” he says as he picks up one of my old pieces of pottery I had made in grade school.  “what the hell is _this_?”

 

Chuckling, I’m filled with the memories of my childhood.  “It’s a little snake that I made when I was little.  In my school’s art class, we were assigned to make our favorite animals out of clay.  My friends dared me to just make a snake—since it was the easiest thing to make, you know? —and turn it in for credit to see what the teacher would do.”

 

“what did they do?”

 

Grinning, I replied, “I failed the project, but my friends called me a legend for doing it.”  I then shrugged and placed the bouquet into the bowl, letting them fall wherever they please into a rustic arrangement. 

 

Sans chuckles a bit.  “nice, red.  stickin’ it to the establishment, i respect that.”  I finish filling the bowl with water, and lean over to set it on my kitchen table as a centerpiece. 

 

I can feel Sans’ eyes on me, and I turn around to catch him staring at me.  He’s blushing slightly, but looks away as soon as our eyes meet.  “y-you fuckin’ done or what?” he croaks.  I imagine he’s thinking of the first time he caught me having sex on my kitchen table.  What a fucking pervert.

 

“More or less,” I sigh, grabbing my purse.  “Let’s go, huh, bonehead?”

 

He chuckles, and opens the door for me.  “after you, princess,” he mocks. 

  

* * *

 

 

After smoking what seemed like an entire pack of cigarettes on the way to the theatre, Sans ends up picking a relatively older horror/suspense movie.  I try my hardest not to laugh out loud. 

 

That little sneak, he wants to scare the shit out of me so that I’ll cuddle with him in fear or some shit.  While movies like this aren’t my favorite, they don’t really scare me.

 

“I heard the killer in this has half of his face missing, that’s fucking gnarly,” I explain, following the skeleton up the stairs of the theatre.  He keeps going and going… all the way to the back?  He doesn’t want to get _frisky_ , does he?

 

He finally sits down in the middle of the back row, and looks at me.  He seems a bit… surprised.  “you don’t think you’ll get scared?”

 

“ _Hardly_ ,” I scoff, plopping down on the seat next to him. 

 

“hehe, good.” He flashes his sharp smile at me.  “i don’t want you holding my hand like some scared little _bitch_.”

 

The lights start to dim, and the previews begin playing. 

 

Looking up at Sans in the dim light of the movie, I can see he’s busy thinking about something.  His mouth is pulled into a small frown, his eyes focused on the movie screen but obviously not paying any attention.  I look back at the screen myself, and try not to think about him.

 

I can feel him shift and look over at me, but I choose to ignore it.  Suddenly he stretches his arms, letting out a small groan, and lets his arm rest on the back of my chair.

 

Oh my _fucking_ God.  Did he _really_ just…?

 

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re do—“

 

“shhhhhh.”  He shushes me quietly, his finger pressed to his mouth, and then points to the screen. 

 

I can feel myself fuming with heat.  I can’t tell if I’m flushed with embarrassment or frustration with how _stupid_ this is.  I sit back and cross my arms tightly, looking over at his boney hand laying limp near my shoulder.

 

I should just try to watch the movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is better, I promise.


	7. Deal Breaker

“red, hey… reeeed?”

 

A deep, sing-songy voice fills my head, and someone is lightly rubbing my shoulder.  I groan and slowly open my eyes, squinting at the bright light.  I try to pull the sheets over my face, but… These aren’t sheets.  They have that familiar smell of cigarettes and… mustard. 

 

I… What?

 

I look around, my eyes focusing in the bright light, and the realization washes over me all at once.   My face had been buried in Sans’ boney shoulder, and at some point he had given me his jacket to use as a blanket.

 

I fell asleep during the movie?

 

“ayyy, her majesty awakens!  heh, you know you snore, right?” he chuckles deeply to himself. 

 

I immediately recoil, as if I’m pretending I hadn’t been asleep at all.  “W-What?” I ask, completely indignant.  I don’t…

 

He snickers a bit more.  “yeah, and you drooled all over my shirt.”  He points to the wet spot on his red turtleneck.  I wipe my mouth with my sleeve and sure enough there’s little wet spots from my saliva.  "so thanks for that, i guess."

 

I can feel my face burn with hot shame.  Looking around, it looks like the movie has been over for a while.  There hadn’t been too many people in the theatre before, but now everyone is gone.  I look back at Sans, and notice how different he looks without his jacket.  With just his shirt on, he looks significantly thinner.  Maybe his jacket just made him look bigger than he actually is? 

 

“H-How long have I been out?” I mumble, reluctantly deciding to hand his jacket back to him.  It was so warm…

 

“heh, you totally crashed like twenty minutes into the movie.”  He begins to pull his jacket back over his form, and looks over to me.  He gently places his skeletal hand on my cheek, and I can feel myself blush.  “you’re pretty fuckin’ cute when you sleep…”  His eyes are staring deep into my own, and I can feel my heart start to palpitate.

 

“Hey!” A voice startles me, and I pull away from his hand.  “For the last time, you guys gotta _leave_!”

 

An usher is standing at the base of the theatre, his hands on his hips.  He seems _really_ mad. 

 

“yeah, yeah, we’re leavin’.  don’t get your panties in a bunch,” Sans grumbles as he stands up.  The usher mumbles something under his breath before storming back into the lobby. 

 

“come on, red, ya hungry?”

 

* * *

 

 

Sans walks back through the crowd from the food truck, a couple of red checkered paper trays in his hands, and sits down across from me on the wooden picnic table.

 

“Hot dogs?” I ask as he pushes one into my hand.  It’s chilly outside, my breath appearing before me in a puff of vapor.

 

“yeah.  you too fuckin’ _good_ for hot dogs or somethin’?” he jeers at me. 

 

I roll my eyes.  “ _No_ , I just thought you were trying to ‘woo’ me.  Street hot dogs aren’t exactly romantic, you know.” 

 

I watch as he takes a bottle of yellow mustard in his hand (where did he even get that?) and drowns his hot dog in the sour yellow sauce.

 

“no, but they’re so _good_ ,” he roars, and takes a huge chomp out his hot dog.  “i fuckin’ _love_ ‘ot dogs,” he muses dreamily with his mouth full, somewhat lost in the taste. 

 

I look down at my own pink boiled dog, seemingly naked without any toppings.  Somehow in his hot dog ecstasy, he notices my distress and offers me his yellow bottle of mustard. 

 

“Thanks,” I mumble, taking the bottle and squirting a thin squiggle of yellow sauce down the length of the dog.  After handing the bottle back, I take a timid bite out of it.  Sans is watching me intently, mustard smeared on his face from his own hot dog.  I slowly chew, and swallow.

 

“Not bad,” I decide.

 

Sans swallows his own mouthful and cheers, “fuck yeah!”  He takes another bite from his hot dog, and looks over at me.  “’dis would haf been a deal breaker, you know,” he admits with his mouth full. 

 

I watch as he gulps it down his gullet, but… what gullet?  How does he do that?  He doesn’t have any skin or muscles, or even a stomach for it to go into!

 

“Sans…” I begin.

 

“whass’ up, Red?”

 

“How do you… you know…  You’re a _skeleton_ , so how do you…”

 

He busts out laughing, taking me by surprise as he spits flecks of hot dog out of his mouth.  He’s howling with laughter, practically doubling over himself in hilarity.  I take a bite out of my own hot dog, timidly waiting for him to finish. 

 

He finally calms down a bit.  “heh… heh heh… i was waiting for that, but man, the look on your face was just…”  He starts chuckling again, but looks at me.  “alright, ya _really_ wanna know?”

 

I nod my head determinately.

 

He sets his hot dog on the table in front of him.  He looks at me with that stupid grin on his face, and I’m suddenly regretting my question.  His burning crimson eye flashes before me, and my hot dog takes on a strange red aura.  I watch in awe as the hot dog then starts to levitate before my very eyes, towards my mouth.  He urges me to take a bite out of the hot dog, and I do.  He chuckles softly.

 

“magic,” he declares, his red eye dimming. 

 

My eyes widen as I continue to slowly chew my hot dog, like a kid who’s just found out Santa Claus and the tooth fairy are real... except I’m in my mid-twenties.  I gulp my hot dog down.

 

“Can… Can all monsters do that?” I ask, pointing at my still-levitating hot dog.

 

He chuckles softly.  “nah, sweetheart, don’t think so.”

 

“So you use magic to eat, and that’s how you did that…” I feel a lump in my throat as I think back to our ‘first date’ on Monday, when his tongue…  Oh my.

 

“yup!  y’see,” he starts, setting my hot dog back down on its tray, “monsters and humans were never really meant to fuck.”

 

Oh God.  Is he going where I think he’s going?

 

“humans have their own method of procreation, and monsters have _their_ own.  both are fundamentally the same, but with varying degrees of magic involved.”

 

He’s going there.

 

“i’m sure you’re very well acquainted with human mating,” he glances mockingly at me, “so let me explain how monster ‘sex’ works.”

 

!!!

 

I can’t move.   I can hardly breathe.  Something has me, no, gravity has increased, I—

 

And then I see it.  A big orange heart has emerged from my sternum, illuminated with a red aura.  W-What—

 

“that is a human soul,” Sans explains.  “ _y_ _our_ soul, to be exact: the culmination of your being.  looks to be drowned in bravery, too.  about what i expected.”  He shrugs.

 

“B-Bravery?”  I stutter.  I’m not feeling very ‘brave’ at this very moment, gotta admit.

 

A white heart has emerged from his own chest.  Just… white.

 

“this is my soul: a monster soul,” he explains.  “my soul is mostly made of magic, with a little bit of matter.  your human soul is mostly made of matter… with a little bit of magic, if you’re lucky.  since you humans have so much matter, you procreate in accordance with such.  monsters, on the other hand, must procreate with magic.”

 

Magic sex? _Yo_.

 

“y’see, when a mommy skeleton and a daddy skeleton love each other very much…”  He chortles to himself.  “they combine their souls,” –he clasps his phalanges together tightly— “in a heated fit of intense affection and longing for each other.  when the souls are finally pried away from each other, a tiny speck of extra soul is created. 

 

“this speck is not entirely one monster or the other, but a unique amalgam of the two.”  He ponders for a minute, and then adds an anecdote: “just like a human zygote.”  To be honest, I had no idea his lexicon was this refined. 

 

I can feel the sense of pressure fade away gradually as Sans lets go of his hold on my soul.  I take a deep breath and sink into my seat. 

 

“now,” he continues sharply, “monster sex is fine, but nowhere _near_ as much fun as human sex, and it _always_ results in producing offspring.  When we found out that humans do it for _fun_ , with ways to significantly diminish the chances of yielding offspring, well…”  He eyes me seductively. 

 

“we found ways to join in the fun.  ‘filling in the gaps’, if you will.”  He winks at me, sticking out his red glowing tongue again.

 

I can feel my blood coursing through my ears, my face washed with hot embarrassment.

 

“so, in conclusion,” he finishes, taking the last bite of his hot dog.  “magic.”

 

I just got the birds and the bees talk from a monster.

 

“Wait… So monsters and humans _can_ have kids together?”

 

Sans licks the mustard off of his fingers, savoring the tangy yellow sauce.  “well, _technically_ , i think, but not _easily_.  i have a friend working in the capital, used to be a royal scientist in the underground.  she’s been researching this shit lately, but all she tells me is that i can keep fucking all the humans that i want without a care in the world.”

 

He looks around him before leaning over to me, his hand shielding his mouth so others in the surrounding area can’t see what he’s saying.  His expression turns uneasy… grossed out?  “ _t_ _rust_ _me_ , after i saw what you guys call ‘std _s’_ , that was the first thing i asked her.” 

 

I can’t help myself and let out a curt chuckle.  “Yeah, those things can get gnarly.”  My smile lingers on my face, and Sans notices. 

 

“heh,” he softly coos at me.  “got ya to smile for me.”

 

His comment makes me want to take the smile from my face and throw it on the ground and stomp on it.  So what, he just wants to have fun?  Is that all I am to him?  A game? 

 

He’s trying to get me to _like_ him, like a high school crush or something?  Is that why I’m different?  Because I won’t just walk into his outstretched arms and forgo every social convention against this ‘monsters with humans’ shit? 

 

 _This_ _fucker_.

 

“I know you’ve been watching me, _neighbor._ ”

 

I blurted it out, the words already spoken before I even knew what I was saying. 

 

Sans recoils at my comment, and his red eye flares in his skull.  “wh-what are you—  i mean, what m-makes you think i—“

 

I decide to keep going.  Cat’s out of the bag, Mr. Skeleton.  I lean closer to him.  He’s flustered.  The little bitch.  “Cut the act, shithead.  I’ve caught you.  A couple of times.  You saw me getting fucked on my kitchen table last weekend, didn’t you?”

 

“i—i—“ he stutters, sweat starting to drip down his skull. 

 

“You dirty bastard,” I hiss at him mockingly, glowering at him with my own evil eye.  “And then the next night, after you bumped into me at the store, you watched that other guy fuck me on my balcony.  That’s what you meant when you said ‘intuition,’ wasn’t it?”

 

He doesn’t respond, so I repeat myself angrily, pounding my palms against the wooden picnic table.  “ _Wasn’t it_?”

 

He’s stopped talking.  I caught him.  He’s looking down at his lap where he twiddles his thumbs nervously, his eyes distant.  Blank. 

 

I lean back, calming myself before people notice us.  “So tell me, _Sans_ _the_ _skeleton_ , what the hell makes you think I’d want to do whatever the hell _this_ is with a fucking _stalker_?”

 

He stays quiet for a solid minute, no doubt gathering his thoughts.

 

“red…” he sighs, looking up at me, his mouth pulled into a weak smile.

 

“i guess it’s time for me to _stalk_ to ya ‘bout some things.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm ~~sorry~~ not sorry for that last line.
> 
> The next chapter is my pride and joy, something I enjoyed writing way too much.
> 
> Sans has a lot of dialogue in this chapter, and in the following chapters, as well. Get ready for cHaRaCtEr DeVeLoPmEnT


	8. A Voyeuristic Piece of Shit

“i first saw ya about three months ago.  i— no, shhh, red, come on.  just… just let me finish before ya yell at me…  i, uh.  i was livin’ in the capital at the time, but an old buddy o’ mine opened up a new club around here, so i decided i’d come visit him.  and there…  i saw you.

 

“red… you looked so fuckin’ _hot_ that night...  your hair was down and curled at your neck, your dress was way too short, even for that sleazy-ass club.  heh… i remember you kept having to pull it down every two minutes.  you even had glitter all over your fucking gorgeous face, and i couldn’t stop thinking that you looked just like a fuckin’ faery.  the way you danced...  you put your whole body into it, your whole being.   _ev_ _erything_.  it was... mesmerizing. 

 

“and red… your eyes seemed so full of life.  i  _knew_ you had to be different from the other humans.  i was just… so taken with you, so  _drawn_ to you, you know?  like a moth to a flame.

 

“i had decided when i first saw you that i wanted—no, _needed_ to have you.  i would do anything to get you underneath me, even if it was just a one-night stand. 

 

“my buddy tried to talk me out of it, tellin’ me that it was wrong to wanna fuck humans, but honestly he just made me want you even more.

 

“i tried to make my way to you through the crowd, but when i finally got to you…

 

“…some…  some _human_ was all over you… touchin’ you and kissin’ yer neck.  and oh, you were lovin’ it, mewlin’ under him like some complacent little bitch. 

 

“i couldn’t feel anything but jealous rage, angry that some fuckhead had beat me to ya.  i called it a night after that, and went back to my hotel.  i went out again the next night, never expectin’ to see ya again, but…

 

“you went out, too. 

 

“in fact, you went out four nights in a row, to that same sleazy club.  each night you looked sluttier and sluttier, and each night you left with a different dickhead.   

 

“on that fourth night, though…  man, your eyes looked desolate, the glitter still plastered on your face to make you look like that faery had died and came back as a fuckin’ zombie or somethin’. 

 

“i had no idea what to think.  at that point, i just kept coming back there to watch you dance.  hell, i didn’t even know your name, but i started to feel… _invested_ in you.  what had turned you into that zombie?  were you using drugs?  were you a prostitute?  were these assholes _raping_ you?  i couldn’t force myself to think that my delicate little faery had all that bad trapped in her soul, so…

 

“…i followed you home that night.

 

“you were drunk as all hell, i remember.  i watched as you stumbled home on that slimy human’s arm, barely able to stand up.  you always got _so_ _fuckin’_ _drunk, r_ ed…

 

“you had made it back to your building, and i watched as you went through the revolving doors with him.  i couldn’t follow you inside, so i had to think of something else.  i waited to see if you would remember to turn your lights on, and you did.

 

“fourth floor, facing the street.  i looked across, and there was an empty apartment.  no furniture on the balcony, or anything…  right across from yours. 

 

“i, uh…  i took a little shortcut into the vacant apartment.  i found that i could see you almost perfectly through your huge windows, into your kitchen and half your living room. 

 

“And so i watched.

 

“you hadn’t even bothered to go into your room, you just fell onto the floor with him.  you were naked, and straddled him with your back to me.  i watched as you rode his dick like a seasoned cowgirl.  i was both disgusted and captivated.  i couldn’t look away.

 

“but suddenly i watched as you gripped your hand to your mouth, doubling over on his left side and you…  i thought it was an orgasm at first, but…

 

“haha… well, you blew chunks, sweetheart.  and that guy scrambled from underneath you, and man was he in a tizzy.  i watched his mouth move and i caught some seriously bad profanities come out of his mouth.

 

“you… you were just retching all over your floor…  i felt for ya, I really did.  that sorry excuse for a meat sack…  i watched as he just slammed your door shut behind him.  he caught a cab home. 

 

“i looked back at you, covered in your own vomit, and your shoulders started to heave again.  but then i realized that instead of going for round two, you just…  you started to cry. 

 

“...my little faery was lost in the world.

 

“you let so much out that night.  you cried for a solid _twenty_ _minutes_ before you finally cried yourself to sleep on your kitchen floor. 

 

“i fell asleep in that apartment across from yours, and when i woke up the next morning, you were gone.  the vomit was all cleaned up.  you had gone to work.

 

“on my way back to the hotel, i couldn’t stop thinking about ya.  i had never seen someone cry so hard before.  snot just bubblin' everywhere...  i…  i started to feel _possessive,_ or some shit.  i found myself wanting to know more and more about your life.  but… with how much i had seen, i didn’t think i could approach you directly.

 

“i stopped going to the club, and instead started coming back to that empty apartment at night to see what you were doing. 

 

“the next couple of nights were relatively tame.  you sat in your living room, watching reruns on some cooking channel.  but you always had a bottle next to ya.  at first it was wine, but as time went on you switched to bottles of rum and vodka.  you sure like to shout at the tv, don’t ya, red?  hehe…

 

“your friends would come over every now and then, and you had fun… but you still drank way too much.  i watched you guys dancing in your underwear one night, using hair brushes and curling irons as microphones, and i could hear the music blaring all the way from that apartment…  heh, you were so cute…

 

“of course, you would still bring home more _dirtbags_ all the time, and i found myself watching you like a voyeuristic piece of shit.  i couldn’t stop watching as their hands groped your body, feeling every inch of your perfect skin.  i knew what I was doing was wrong, but i…  i just couldn’t stop.

 

“i tried to reason with myself that it was because it got me off or some shit, but deep down, i knew it was more than that.

 

“there were other times where you wouldn’t come home at all.  i would stay up all night, just waiting for you to come back to your place...  trying to make sure you were safe.  i’d see you on the sidewalk in the morning, making your walk of shame…  barefoot, with your high heels in your hands.  you looked like absolute shit, and with the way you just stripped and fell into your bed, i know you felt like it too.

 

“you were a train wreck, and i couldn’t stop watching.  you were spiraling, and i felt…  i don’t fucking know, red, i just _felt_. 

 

“my, uh… my brother was gettin’ mad at me since i’d been gone for more than two whole months when i said i would only be gone for a couple o’ days.  i knew i couldn’t go back home with you… bein’ _you_ , so i tried to convince him to move here, to xyz. 

 

“he was a tough sell, but i finally got him to agree.  i bought out that empty apartment— hey, can you believe they cut the price in half since some prick died there?  heh, where i come from, you gotta pay extra fer that.

 

“anyways, so we moved in.  i started talking to my bro about ya, since he always gives pretty good advice.  i didn’t tell him everything, but i told him that i didn’t know how to talk to ya.  he gave me the best advice, too.

 

“‘TELL HER ONE OF YOUR IDIOTIC JOKES,’ he said, and i knew he was right.  chicks love a guy that can make ‘em laugh, huh? 

 

“sunday was coming up, and i’d been watchin’ ya long enough to know that sunday is your day to go get food from the store down the street.  i wrote down a shitty pickup line and my number, and i prayed to every single one of your human gods to let it work. 

 

“but that saturday night, i was starting to get nervous.  _r_ _eally_ nervous.  i started taking up smoking as a way to kill the… _shit_  i kept feeling when i thought about ya.  pap won’t let me smoke inside, so i had to go to the balcony.

 

“and that’s when i saw ya… gettin’ _boned_ over your table. 

 

“i watched you for the next fifteen minutes, like i was watchin’ some show about animals or some shit.  i watched the way your hips moved against his dick, the way your mouth opened when you orgasmed, the way you shut him down after he asked if he could spend the night. 

 

“you disappeared from view for a minute, so i lit up again.  you reappeared at your bedroom window, and you were brushing yer hair again.  i always loved watching you stare out into the night… i never knew what you were thinking, and i told myself i’d probably never find out.

 

“the next day, sunday, you woke up pretty late.  i saw you walk into your kitchen to grab your phone, where you had left it from the night before.  You looked so tired and worn out, i…

 

“i told pap we needed to go to the store to find some shit for some recipe i told him i wanted to try, and he bought it.  i snuck away to try and find you, but… you found me.

 

“and, well… the rest is history.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~The Big ReVeAL~
> 
> Like I said before, this chapter was fun for me, and I'm really happy with it. 
> 
> So, uh. Three months. That's a long time, huh? 
> 
>  
> 
> you never know who might be watching 乁(ᴗ﹏ᴗ)ㄏ


	9. Playin' by the Rules

I don’t know what to say.

 

What is there to say?

 

As I sat there listening to my life through someone else’s eyes, I couldn’t help but feel… sad.  The girl in the story Sans was telling me wasn’t a fictional character.

 

That was _me_.

 

I had forgotten about that night when I threw up…  I never remembered exactly what happened, just that I woke up in my kitchen covered in my own vomit.  Listening to what happened…  I just didn’t know what to say, what to do.  What to _feel_.

 

I look up to Sans, who’s just sitting across from me and looking at me looking at him.  What does he want me to say?  That I hate him?  That I love him? 

 

“Thank you,” I begin quietly, like a mouse, afraid to interrupt our silence.  “Thank you for telling me.”

 

Sans gives me a weak smile.  “no prob.”

 

My eyes dart to my hands, cold and clammy in my lap.  I guess the biggest question in my mind is this: does he care about me, or is he just obsessed with me?

 

Maybe a little of both. 

 

Did he… want to save me or something? 

 

I don’t need saving.  I can handle myself. 

 

“I’m, uh…” I start, avoiding eye contact with him.  “I’m gonna leave now.”

 

I can hear his shoulders slump in disappointment as I swing my legs out of the picnic table bench. 

 

“w-wait…” he starts, but I’m already getting to my feet.  I blink, and he appears in front of me, his skeletal hands grabbing my arms lightly. 

 

“i…” He mumbles, looking directly into my eyes.  Sweat beads on his skull again, and…  I think he’s blushing slightly.  “i don’t know why you started drinkin’, red, but i bet it was because of those friends of yours.  you’re just so fuckin’ impulsive, you had to keep up with them…  and then one day, they were trying to keep up with _you_.

 

“i can… i guess i just see _myself_ in you, and no, that isn’t some retarded innuendo shit.  i can tell that you do a lot of shit just to please others, ‘cuz ya think it’ll make ya happy or make everything go by quicker or...” he trails off, looking down at my hands. 

 

“but listen, it _won’t_ ,” he reprises.

 

He doesn’t know me…  This voyeuristic fucking _monster_ doesn’t know what’s best for me.

 

“i know you have somethin’ against monsters, but listen…  livin’ in the underground…  fuck, it was the absolute _worst_.  my brother was the second in command of the royal guard, and everyone fucking _hated_ him.  and they hated me, too, just because i hung around the fucker all the time.  i had to act tough, _be tough_ , intimidate everyone just so they’d leave me alone and i wouldn’t get fucking dusted on my way home at night. 

 

“but that wasn’t me…  heh, to be honest, i just wanted to sleep all day and come up with bad puns in my spare time.  my brother…  he forced me stay strong, to keep that façade.  when that kid came along, and they… they let us out, red, and the human world is so much more forgiving than it was down there. 

 

“i’ve learned a lot since coming to the surface.  your happiness, your life… it’s something only _you_ can determine, not others.  you… you need to let go of what you _think_ people want from you…  you… you need…”  He trails off again, looking away into the distance. 

 

Suddenly he embraces me in his arms and crushes his lips to mine.  I’m taken by surprise, and try to pull away by pressing my hands against his chest.  He’s too strong!  What the _fuck_ does he think he’s _doing_?  Get _away_ from me!  This is so _wrong_ , on so many levels!  He’s so disgusting, a-and repulsive, and he smells like mustard, and…!

 

It washes over me slowly, this wave of bliss.  He’s so warm, and I can feel my head spinning.  This is so different from anything I’ve ever felt before… 

 

My arms start to go limp as I feel his tongue licking my teeth, asking to come into my mouth.  I reluctantly allow him entrance, and his tongue rushes into my warm mouth.  He tastes like mustard and cigarettes, but it’s oddly arousing.  He finds my own tongue and starts to lick it gently, and I find myself wrestling back with his tongue.  He gently bites my lip with his sharp teeth, and I get sucked into that familiar lusty haze.

 

And just as quickly as it started, it was over.  He breaks the kiss, a string of saliva lingering from our lips.  He’s still holding me close to him, and looking at me with hooded eyes.  I feel dizzy as I look up at him. 

 

“don’t let others tell you how to act,” he says quietly.  “think for yourself.” 

 

He leans into my neck and presses his lips onto my exposed collarbone, giving me goosebumps.  “So tell me,” he whispers into my ear, seduction dripping from his tone of voice.  “do you want me or not?”

 

Do I want him?   Do I want him to…?

 

“Yes,” I find myself breathing through labored breaths.  “I want you.”

 

What am I saying?

 

I find myself leaning into him again, desperate to feel his touch. Please, just kiss me some more, touch me again, _anything_...

 

"heh," I hear him chuckle, and then he presses his finger to my puckered lips.  "easy there, red.  not tonight."

 

I'm drunk off of his kiss, but his comment jolts me awake.  "What?" I spit at him, "Why the hell not?" 

 

That evil gleam in his eye returns.  “i didn’t think you were supposed to put out until the third date?  you know this is only our se—“

 

“Fuck that, Sans!” I hiss impatiently.  “Just _fuck_ me already!”  I can’t stop the words from spewing out of my mouth.  The part of my brain responsible for higher intellect and abstract thoughts has completely shut down.  All that’s left is telling me to breathe, blink, and _fuck_.  I need something to fuck, I need to fuck _him_.

 

I try to pull him back towards me, clutching at the collar of his smelly-ass jacket, but I feel that familiar force hold me back.  No…  No no no no no…

 

“whoa, red, simmer down,” he chuckles.  “you really don’t like it when people tell you no, huh?” 

 

I’m fuming where I stand, arms pinned to my side by his telepathy.  “Sans,” I breathe, trying to reason with him.  A coarse smile coats my lips like his magical saliva.  “Come on…  Do you really want to _wait_ to fuck me?  Your precious little faery?”  I stick out my bottom lip a little bit, trying my best to give him a sexy pout.

 

“haha, not really, sweetheart, but i wouldn’t be playin’ by the rules if i didn’t wait until our next _date_.”  He grabs my chin with his boney fingers, looking deep into my eyes.  “i told ya… i want to play by the rules.”

 

I can feel myself deflate from his words, like a balloon shot with a nail gun.  I start to come down from my lusty high, haze being lifted into the cold November air.  Looking around, I can see that the food truck is gone.  _Everyone_ is gone.  How late is it?

 

Seeming to notice my glances of the environment, Sans checks his phone for the time.  “ah, shit, it’s late,” he groans.  “let’s get you back home, huh?”

 

I can feel his magic wane on my soul, and I can move freely again.  “Okay,” I mumble, pulling my jacket closer to my body.

 

Our walk home is filled with friendly chatter.  Sans explains the movie that I slept through in _excruciating_ detail.  He actually ducked into an alley while I was talking, and when I noticed he wasn’t by my side, I started to panic.  “Sans?” I called out, my knees practically buckling.  I backtracked a bit to see where he might have gone, and sure enough the bastard pops out and scares the ever-loving _shit_ out of me. 

 

I was _not_ happy.

 

I finally get up to my front door, and fumble through my purse for my keys.  “So when’s our—”

 

“next date?” he finishes, grin spread wide across his face as he leans against the entryway.  He ponders dramatically for a moment with an audible “hmmm” before finally saying, “you doin’ anything in three to five business weeks?”

 

I’m appalled.  “You fucking loser, be serious.”

 

“okay, okay…  how about tomorrow night?”

 

I’m finally able to find my key in my bottomless purse, carefully twisting the key into the lock.  “So soon?”

 

“i mean my first offer didn’t appeal to you,” he smirks at me.  I roll my eyes at him, twisting the doorknob and pushing my door open.  “let’s… let’s have dinner together…  here, at your place.  eight o’clock?”

 

“...What?”

 

“yeah.  you even have such a beautiful centerpiece on your table now,” he coos at me facetiously, referring to the flowers he brought me earlier.  I’m standing in the doorway, with half a mind to slam the door in his face.

 

“I’m not making dinner for yo—“

 

“i’ll do dinner,” he blurts sheepishly.  “a-and bring it over.  trust me.”

 

I fake pondering his proposal for a brief moment before nodding my head in agreement, but on the inside I’m screaming with delight. 

 

“great!  i’ll see ya…”—he checks his phone— “well, later today, technically.  good night, red.”  He gives me a quick peck on the cheek before I close the door on him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More fluff, and then getting promptly denied.
> 
> You can see what I mean with Fell though, right? I feel like I'm writing him pretty close to the original Sans, but with way more swearing and confidence. That's just how I feel his character would develop. 
> 
> Idk maybe I'm trying too hard to defend myself ¯\\_(*~*)_/¯ 
> 
> If you think I should change him at all, lmk
> 
> Sex is coming very soon, I'm writing it as quickly as I can. 
> 
> You dirty sinners.


	10. What You Wanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it comes.
> 
> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Waking up the next morning, it’s already 3 PM.  Good thing it’s Saturday, I guess.  I can feel the drool caked to my face.  Yuck. 

 

 _Tonight_.

 

I sit up in my bed abruptly, suddenly remembering everything that happened the night prior.  The movie, the hot dogs, Sans…  I let my hand mindlessly drift to my chapped lips.

 

I need to get ready, I—I have so much to do a-and only—what?  Four hours and 54 minutes?

 

 _Oh_ _my_ _God_.

 

I spent the whole evening cleaning my apartment.  Throwing away the used chopsticks and takeout containers made me realize how much I really needed a good home-cooked meal.  I pondered what Sans was going to make, and really hoped it didn’t have mustard in it. 

 

I found some old bottles of wine under my couch while I was vacuuming, and I couldn’t help but think about him.  As I read the label, I reflected that I didn’t even remember drinking it… at all.  I caught myself looking back through my window towards his apartment, but his curtains were drawn.

 

I started to feel ashamed of my drinking.  Why was I drinking so much?  My life is pretty okay, isn’t it?  I have great friends, I can lay any guy I want, I have a great career…  I try to my hardest to keep up with the cooking channel drama…

 

I kept busy cleaning to distract myself from hard questions.

 

Before I knew it, I hear a knock at my door.  _It’s_ _time_ _._  

 

I look back at myself in my bedroom mirror, my eyes making one last pass over my body to make sure that I look absolutely perfect.  I’ve let my long, carrot-red locks drip onto my shoulders, my curls lapping at my collarbones.  I’m wearing this long mermaid tail dress I’ve had for ages, and underneath I’ve got matching black panties and lacy bra.  I decided not to wear shoes, since we _are_ just having dinner in my apartment.

 

I walk into my foyer, glancing at my kitchen table and observing how elegant it looks.  I took the liberty of digging out my fine china and sterling silver place settings, and I even found a couple of old candlesticks and lit them.  For ambiance, you know?

 

My attention goes back to the door, and I calmly open it.  Sans is standing before me with…

 

Oh my God. 

 

He has a white pizza box with grease stains (I recognize the logo from that place down the street) in one hand and a bottle of mustard tucked into his arm.  He’s, uh…  still wearing his usual getup: shorts, sneakers, and that ratty jacket.

 

I don’t know what I expected, to be honest.

 

“Pizza?” is all I manage to say.

 

“hell fuckin’ yeah!”  he hollers and pushes his way through my door, thus finally debunking that myth I heard about monsters not being able to enter your home without an invitation.

 

“wow, you really went all out, huh?” His smile comes through in his tone of voice.  He sets the pizza on the table along with his bottle of mustard, and turns around to face me.  His expression softens, and he spends a solid ten seconds just looking me up and down.  All he manages to croak out is a hushed “wow.”  I can see red blush forming on his cheekbones, and he pulls at the collar of his crimson turtleneck nervously.  It almost looked cartoonish: ‘is it hot in here or is it just me?’ style.

 

“uhhh… shit, red, i had no idea this was a _formal_ event,” he mutters, looking down at himself with a nervous smile.

 

“Don’t sweat it.”    

 

“you look… great.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

…

 

Awkward silence.

 

I clear my throat.  “So, Italian, huh?” 

 

He practically snorts in laughter.  “yeah.  sure.  _i_ _talian_.”

 

I try to find the silver lining in this.  “Let me find a good red.” 

 

I start to walk over to my wine rack, and after a small deliberation, I decide on pulling out something I had been saving for a special occasion.  Grabbing a corkscrew and couple of wine glasses, I turn around and—

 

Sans pushes himself into me, embracing me in his arms and crushing his mouth to mine.  Of course, this catches me completely by surprise and I drop the ( _expensive_ ) bottle and the glasses.  The sharp sound of glass shattering fills my home, and I can feel the wine pool at my bare feet. 

 

I try to scream through his mouth, but he just pulls me into him harder.  “’m sorry, red,” he breathes between his kisses.  He buries his face into the crook of my neck, giving me long and seductive kisses and licks.  “can’t hold back,” he continues.  “you’re so…”

 

“S-Sans!  What—You can’t just—  Sans…”  I need to tell him that I’m barefoot and I might step on some broken glass, but his tongue is just making me forget everything I’ve ever known in my entire life and oh God, this is just like last night and...   

 

Wait!  There’s broken glass _everywhere_!  I tried to get his attention by saying his name, but eventually I just find myself melting under his touch, and instead I’m moaning his name over and over again.

 

His arms reach behind my thighs, and suddenly I find myself being lifted onto my kitchen counter.  His red tongue is dragging along my clavicle, leaving a trail of saliva and goosebumps all over my neck and chest.  He finally pulls himself away from my flesh, looking up at me with absolute lust in his eyes.

 

“third date over, let’s fuck.”  His breathing is ragged and his voice raspy, and I think that’s the most coherent thing he could have said in his current state.

 

I can feel my heart pumping blood into my ears and face, causing me to blush profusely.  Looking into his eyes, I know he’s got nothing on his mind except for me.  My mind is clouding with that same lusty haze, and my breathing becomes shallow.

 

Let’s do it.

 

I gently nod to him and wrap my arms around his neck, shoving my own tongue into his mouth.  He embraces me warmly once again, and I can feel him slide his skeletal hands under my thighs.  I’m vaguely aware of my ass leaving my counter as our tongues wrestle for dominance, and I think he’s picking me up to move us to my room. 

 

I hear the gentle crunch of glass breaking beneath his sneakers, but I just keep kissing him, probing his mouth for every ounce of what he wants to give to me. 

 

I can smell the perfume I had spritzed in my room earlier, and I gasp for breath as he drops me onto my bed.  He drops to his knees in front of me, hooking his arms around my thighs and pulling me closer to the edge of the bed.  He starts sending tender kisses and suckles up and down my thighs, his hands pushing my dress over my belly button.  His touches are sending shockwaves of pleasure through my body, and I’m moaning and breathing his name, yes, please, keep going… 

 

His finger gently rubs against my slit through my panties, immediately soaking them with my arousal.  Seeming happy with my response, he pushes my panties deeper into the crease of my folds, sliding his finger up and down slowly.  I start to grind my hips on his finger, silently begging him to take my panties off.

 

I can hear his deep chuckle as he pushes himself back on top of me, eyes running up and down my body, taking in the sight of me.  He smiles as he brushes a stray red curl from my face, and leans down to slip his tongue into my mouth again.  “i’ll be gentle,” he breathes as he breaks the kiss and leans into my neck again, sending a hot puff of air onto my sensitive skin. 

 

His tongue makes its way back into my mouth, and I immediately clamp my teeth down on his tongue.  He recoils.  “ow!  what the _fuck_ , red?”

 

Seemingly snapped out of his heat, I take the opportunity to look him deep in his eyes.  “Don’t be gentle,” I snap at him, my eyes a stony wall of grave sincerity.  “I told you to _fuck_ me.” 

 

His expression changes, almost as if he’s disappointed, and he looks away from me.  I thought he wanted this too?  He sighs softly, but a malicious smile reappears on his face.  His gold canine catches some of the dim light in my bedroom, making it gleam wickedly.

 

“if that’s what you want, sweetheart.”

 

Sans grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls my head back roughly, his red eye flaring with the excitement.  The pain catches me off guard and I whimper in pain.  "you’re gonna pay for that, by the way,” he hisses as he catches the hem of my dress and forcefully tugs it over my head.  

 

I’m left exposed to him in nothing but my bra and panties, the cool air of my room lapping at my skin.  He looms above me, pausing to drink in the sight of me, no doubt reveling in the fruits of his recent conquest.  I watch as his eyes slowly trail down to my breasts, and he reaches his hand out to grope my right tit.  The thin fabric of my bra does nothing to shield my sensitive nipple from his hand as he rolls it between his fingers.  He watches intently as I breathe small moans in pleasure; he seems right pleased with himself.

 

He leans back down to me, his face in the crook of my neck again.  I can feel his hot breath in my ear as he takes a gentle lick on my shoulder, and then—

 

And then I scream _bloody_ _murder_.

 

He’s bitten into my shoulder with his sharp teeth, my body racking with the intense pain.  Apparently he likes this noise even more; Sans let out a deep guttural growl in response to my scream.  I start to squirm under the stinging pain, but it subsides it gradually as he licks at my wound.

 

I feel that familiar grip on my soul, and suddenly I find myself flung onto the floor, next to the bed.  I gasp for breath, looking at the teeth marks on my shoulder.  Little droplets of blood have started to pill in the caveats of the wound, and I glance at him.

 

“What the fuck are you do—“  I don’t get to finish as he drags my soul closer to him.  I find myself sitting on my knees in front of him as he sits on the edge of my bed, and he grabs another handful of my hair.

 

“shut up,” he barks.  He presses my face to his crotch and—Is.  Is it glowing?  I…  What?

 

And then I feel it.  He presses my cheek into his fat cock, enveloped in the fabric of his shorts, no doubt made of the same magic as his tongue.  “this is what you wanted, isn’t it?”  I look up at him timidly, and his shit-eating grin is spread wide across his face.  I…  Yeah, I guess it is...  I nod my head quietly.

 

“then fuckin’ _act_ _like_ _it_ ,” he snarls, pushing my cheek harder into his member.  Okay, okay, I can take a hint… _jeez_.

 

I keep rubbing my cheek on his cock, his shorts no doubt muffling the sensation.  I take my hand and press it around his cock, feeling it in my grasp.  It feels like any other dick from a human, but it just feels _so_ _big_.  Running my hand up and down his shaft makes him groan under his breath, but I’m really just trying to size him up.  Nine, maybe ten inches?  Color me impressed.

 

Curiosity starts to take the best of me, and I start to pull his shorts away from his hipbones.  His cock comes into view slowly, red and glowing with his magic.  It’s so realistic…  I can see veins popping through the translucent red color.  I…  I’m speechless, and I think I’m just staring at how big and girthy it looks.  I can hear Sans chuckle lowly.  “you gonna suck it or what?”

 

His voice snaps me out of my trance, and pure instinct kicks in.  I stick the tip of my tongue to the base of his cock and start trailing my way all the way up to the head.  He sighs, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.  When I finally get to the head, I can see beads of— …I don’t know, whatever is analogous to precum for him— forming at the tip, and I fearlessly lap it up with the width of my tongue.  It tastes…  Hm, well, not really like anything at all, to be truthful. 

 

He seems to be happy with what I’m doing, but I know he wants more.  I kiss the tip of his cock with my lips before taking the first couple of inches into my mouth.  I’ve never felt my mouth so full from sucking a cock, and I find that my jaw is actually starting to hurt the more I try to slide into my mouth.  He sighs and groans again, pulling my hair a little bit more taught in his phalanges.  “tha’s a good girl,” he moans softly. 

 

I keep his cock still in my mouth, gently lapping at him with my tongue.  He gradually releases my hair, and I can feel him start to stroke my hair in encouragement.  I start to get used to the feeling of his cock in my mouth, so I decide to start bobbing my head up and down slowly, careful not to drag my teeth on him.  He groans again in pleasure, and his grip tightens in my hair once again as he tries to force me deeper onto his cock. 

 

I try my hardest to meet his demands, forcing my throat to open up to accept more of his length.  I lift myself up on my knees to take him in at a better angle, and I brace myself by gripping his thig—… _femurs_. 

 

I’m forcing back my gag reflex to the best of my ability, but God, he’s just so _big_.  I start to pick up the pace as he encourages me with his guttural moans, and I can hear him switch between moaning his favorite profanities and ‘red’.  He pulls my hair again, forcing me to look up at him.  I can see his expression soften when he sees me, my lips wrapped around his cock and my eyes hooded. 

 

But then something changes in him.  “i can’t take this,” he grumbles.  Before I know it, he’s grabbed my arm and flung me on my back onto my bed.  He stands before me, pressing my feet against his ribs and he starts to pull my panties down my legs.  I can feel the tendrils of girl cum sticking to the fabric as he pulls them off…  Am I really that wet?  As if answering my question, I can feel the head of his cock rub at my entrance, softly gliding over my engorged clit over and over again.  I bite my lip and look up to him again. 

 

He meets my gaze.  “tell me how bad you want it,” he mumbles, barely above a whisper. 

 

“I want your cock more than I’ve ever craved a cock in my entire life,” I concede.  It’s not far from the truth.  My brain tries to remind me to grab a condom before I do something I’ll regret, but I think I’ll be good on this one. 

 

He smiles, seeming pleased with my response, and plunges his cock deep into my eager cunt.  I scream out in pleasure and pain, not expecting him to hilt such a huge dick on the first try.  My muscles clamp down on him, and he groans.  “fuckin’… _hell_ , red… you’re so fuckin’ _tight_ ,” he admits through his teeth as he clenches his jaw.  My pussy is practically sucking him back in as he tries to pull out, and thrusts back in with fervor. 

 

My brain is fried at this point.  I can’t think about anything but the way his cock feels and the way his hands are gripping at my thighs.  I close my eyes and listen to the sound of our sex making lewd sloshing noises, and the way bone sounds when it slaps against my flesh.  I’m just talking through my moaning, saying whatever comes to mind: yes, please, fuck me harder, more, don’t stop, _please_ , etc.  It just feels so fucking _good_. 

 

He reaches his hand down above my pussy and starts to rub my clit gently with his thumb, making me practically scream in pleasure.  I’m clutching at the sheets on my bed, my knuckles going white and my eyes squeezed shut as I can feel that familiar feeling building up in my gut.  I wrap my feet around his torso, trying to bring him closer to me, deeper inside me.  His pace is steady and he’s grunting in his own pleasure, beads of sweat dotted all over his head. 

 

Between last night’s arousal and the way he attacked me in my kitchen, my orgasm is mounting quicker than I was anticipating.  “K… Keep goin…g,” I breathe between moans, “I’ll…  I’m go… gonna…”  My brain is focusing on the sensation of his cock pumping inside me repeatedly, sending wave after wave of pleasure through my body.  His pace actually picks up at my words, and he rubs my clit fervently with his thumb.  He’s going to push me over the edge, he’s going to make me… Sans is going to… Sans… yes… _yes_ _yes_ _yes_ …!

 

“go on, red.  cum.”

 

My pussy clamps down on his cock, making it harder for him to keep thrusting as my orgasm overtakes my entire body.  Something halfway between a moan and a scream erupts from my raspy throat, but I think I’m saying his name.  I can feel his own hot fluids splash inside me, coating my walls with… I don’t know, magic I suppose.  He bucks his hips a couple of times as he moans my name, finishing his orgasm with a deep thrust inside me.

 

I can feel him pull out of my pussy gingerly, and then he collapses onto my bed beside me.  We’re both out of breath and sweating like pigs.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” we both say in unison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a pretty long chapter, around 3000 words. My smol snek baby sat on my head while I wrote most of this, I feel like such a bad mom.
> 
> Anywho, I wanted to give a shout-out to the people that have left great feedback on my story! I really appreciate anything more than "wow this is great" types of comments, it helps me to become a better writer.
> 
> To the concerned civilians about how quickly I had updated the story: I actually had the first 8 chapters written out before I even joined AO3, so don't worry about me getting burned out just yet! I just decided to post the majority of them in short succession because I guess I wanted to see if I should even continue writing it. 
> 
> But don't worry, you guys seem to really like it so far, so I'm defs going to see this through to the end. I've got the majority of the plot laid out in my mind and I don't plan on stopping anytime soon. >:3
> 
> I may enact a scheduled two or three day upload deadline, but this is tbd. I currently spend most of my down time writing and planning my writing, so stay tuned.
> 
>  
> 
>   
>  ~~Also I am a glutton for attention so please share my story with other sinners you think might like it~~  
> 


	11. Really Bad Self-Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of some comments I've received lately, I did go ahead and give this story a "stalking" tag. I don't want to make you guys uncomfortable, so read at your own discretion. ):
> 
> I've also decided to make longer chapters, somewhere between 2500-3000 words. I hope you guys don't mind.

 I just slept with my stalker.

 

The sound of running water from my faucet fills my ears.

 

I just slept with my stalker.

 

I just.

 

Slept with.

 

My stalker.

 

I’m staring at myself naked in my bathroom mirror, silently judging myself.  How could I have done this?  What the hell is wrong with me?  Why can’t I just think with my brain instead of my vagina all the time?  Why couldn’t I just have common sense and gotten a restraining order?

 

That… isn’t like me, right?  Am I going crazy?

 

He has magic, right?  He’s using mind control, he has to be.  Like how he can throw me around without even touching me.

 

There’s no way I did this of my own free will.

 

Is he going to kill me now that he’s fucked me?

 

He's gotten what he wanted...  Am I going to end up dead in a gutter somewhere?

 

All the shit he told me…  It was just to make me think that he cared about me. 

 

I’ve made a huge mistake.

 

Nervously, I glance toward the closed door of my bathroom.  What if… he’s just waiting out there for me.  I left to go clean up, and now he’s…  He’s going to…

 

I feel the dull pain of the bite on my shoulder, now mostly scabbed over.

 

_Sans is going to kill me._

 

Panic is settling in now.  M-My phone, I gotta…  No, it’s in the kitchen.  I’m looking around my bathroom, trying to find something to defend myself with.  A hairbrush?  Am I really strong enough to get away with blunt force trauma?

 

_Hit the gym, you idiot._

 

Sharp, sharp, gotta stab him.

 

_Stab what?  He’s a skeleton._

 

I…  I have to run away.  That’s my only option.

 

I grab my robe from the back of my door and quickly pull it around my body, tying it tightly against my waist.  I shut the faucet off.

 

Staring at the doorknob, I try to steel myself.  I just need to hope he’s not waiting for me, and I can just run to my kitchen and grab my phone and dial 911 and…

 

Oh God.

 

Like ripping a bandage off a scraped knee, I whip the door open and—

 

I see it.

 

“ _What the fuck do you think you’re doing, you little shit?”_

 

Sans is pressing a lit cigarette between his lips, the greasy pizza box splayed out on my bed with two slices missing.  My room reeks of tobacco and bad Italian food.

 

“wh-whoa red, what are you—“

 

I’m absolutely livid, and I stomp over to that wretched skeleton without a second thought.  I pull that foul cigarette out of his mouth _— “hey!”—_ and promptly open my window and throw it out with little ceremony.  I shut the window forcefully into the sill.

 

“ _Smoking_ in my fucking _apartment_?  What the _hell_ is wrong with you?” I snap at him, whipping around violently. 

 

“oh, uh, sorry.”  Sans tries to play it cool, turning his attention to the half-eaten pizza.  “want some ‘za?”

 

I’m fuming— no, furious— no, _seething_ with anger. 

 

“ _No_ , I don’t fucking _want_ —“ 

 

And then it hits me.  His face is covered in panicky droplets of sweat and he has his arm up, as if to brace himself from an attack…  

 

 _He’s_ scared of _me_.

 

“I mean…”  I take a deep breath, letting most the anger flow out of my chest with the exhale.  “Yeah.  Yeah, I could go for some shitty pizza.” 

 

Sans sighs a small breath of relief, and drops his defense.

 

“Just.  Take that shit outside, Jesus.”  I’m hoping a few candles and washing my sheets will get rid of the smell.  He shrugs and takes a bite of a fresh slice.

 

I plop myself onto my bed next to him, the motion rocking the both of us back forth for a couple of moments.  I take a moment to look at him in the glow of my bedside lamp.  He’s taken off his jacket and thrown it over my bedroom chaise, leaving him in his shorts and that red grooved turtleneck.  He’s rolled up his sleeves, exposing his two forearm bones.  What were they called again?  The radius and the… ulna? 

 

And then I see the pizza.

 

“Wha— _Sans_!”  That panicked expression returns to his face, his cheeks still puffing with pizza.  “Our pizza is naked!”  It’s just a cheese pizza.  “Where are the toppings?”  Cheese pizza is bottom tier, everyone knows that.

 

He swallows with a loud ‘gulp!’ and snickers.  “heh.  man, you complain _a lot_ , don’t ya _?”_   It was more of a statement of observation than a question.

 

I try my hardest not to smack him, and just pick up my own slice of pizza in silence.

 

He was about to take another bite when he shouts, “no no, wait!”  He clears his throat, and tries to put on a look of stern professionalism.  “you’re a real _pizza_ work.”  He points his finger at me playfully, waiting for my response.  I practically choke on my pizza.

 

“man, guess i need to work on my _delivery_.”  His eyes are lit with childlike glee.

 

I start to wish he had killed me.  “You done?”

 

“no.  _o_ _live_ for being _cheesy_ like this.”

 

I groan.

 

“okay, okay, _at_ _yeast_ one more!”

 

_MMMMMMMMMMM._

 

He exaggerates a shrug and says, “changed my mind, it was too _chees_ —“

 

I’ve thrown my pizza into his face, the half-eaten slice landing on his right eye socket and slowly sliding down.

 

He stares at me with his other eye socket completely dark and blank, his smile gone.  We maintain tense eye contact for a few uneasy moments.

 

And then we start laughing:  snorts and giggles at first, and then maniacal cackling.  Our laughter finally dies down, and he takes the slice from his face as well as the slice in his hand and shoves them both into his mouth at once.

 

“I’m simultaneously disgusted and impressed with you,” I admit reluctantly.

 

He chews and swallows with another big gulp.  “heh.  to be honest, i was practicing the whole way over here.  i was gonna try and give you dinner and a show, but…  well.”  He looks away shyly, and I think he’s blushing.  “you know.”

 

Man, I thought this guy was going to kill me for sure.

 

“so,” he starts with more confidence.  “what did you think of gettin’ _boned_ by a skeleton?”  Ah, so crass.

 

“It was pretty okay, _tibia_ honest.”  Dear Lord it’s contagious.

 

“hey, that wasn’t very _humerus_.  you already used that one,” he reminds me.

 

“I think you’ve used the bone joke like five times since I’ve met you, so fuck you.”

 

“again?”  He flashes me his tooth in that shit-eating grin of his.

 

I ponder his suggestion for a moment as I take another bite of my greasy slice of pizza.  “Probably not,” I admit.  “Not really feeling up to it tonight.”  I find myself absentmindedly rubbing my shoulder.

 

He must have seen me rub my shoulder.  “sorry for drawin’ blood.  i, uh…  didn’t mean to go that deep.  don’t know what came over me,” he apologizes demurely.  He shifts himself and leans next to me, sweeping away the red curls from my shoulder.  He tries to gently kiss my injured shoulder, but I immediately recoil from his touch. 

 

“W-What are you doing?” I try not to sound completely appalled.

 

“i’m— uh…” he stutters, and he withdraws nervously.  “s-sorry, i just thought—“

 

Uh-oh.  Gotta shut this down quick.

 

“Sans…  You know that what we just did…  It didn’t _mean_ anything, right?”

 

“y-you mean you didn’t immediately fall madly in love with my dick?  ‘cuz i m-mean, the way you had it in your mouth, i—“

 

“Sans, I’m serious.”

 

“hi ‘serious,’ i’m sans.”

 

“ _Sans_.”  Humor is obviously a defense mechanism for him.  Interesting.

 

“yeah, yeah, okay…  didn’t mean nothin’.  sure.”  My eyes narrow at him as I study his body language.  He really seems… upset.  During the sex, he told me he wanted to be gentle, but… 

 

“Sans.”

 

He looks up at me with big puppy dog… er, skeleton eye sockets.

 

“Do you really think I can just… ‘fall in love with you’ after three dates?  Hell, why do you think I can even love you _at_ _all_ after you stalked me for _three_ _whole_ _months_?”

 

He’s visibly shaken at my question, and he starts to sweat nervously.  “i—i, uh…”  He’s looking down at his pizza in his hand, probably gathering his thoughts.  And then he looks up at me, his red eye emerging and seeming… less scary than usual.

 

“red...  what makes you think i don’t _sincerely_ and _honestly_ care about you?”

 

Now I’m the one caught off guard.  “I—I…  You fucking stalked me, that’s… that’s not fucking cool and—”

 

“i know.  i’m sorry.”

 

That’s the first time he’s apologized for it.

 

“No, you’re not.”

 

“i am.  i’m truly sorry.  i…  i wanted to make sure that someone wasn’t hurting you, or that you weren’t hurting yourself.  i’m sorry i was a straight up _bonehead_ and scared the shit outta ya.  i should have thought about you, i…”

 

I bite my lip in frustration.  He sounds so _sincere_ , but how can I forgive him for something like that?

 

He continues, “look, i…  i have really bad self-control, alright?  in the underground, i just took whatever i wanted with no fear of the consequences, ‘cuz that was just part of the game.  with my brother being part of the royal guard, i just got used to it, i—”

 

“You’re not in the Underground anymore, Sans.  You can’t just—“

 

 _“ **y** **ou think i don't fuckin’ know that already**_?”  he snarls at me viciously, his red eye throbbing in his eye socket. 

 

Stunned silence.

 

I look at the monster before me, and realize he’s just that: a monster.  I think for a moment about his home, the Underground.  I remember seeing a big news report on the culture of the Underground after monsters had originally surfaced.   They talked about how it’s kill or be killed down there, 24/7.  No safety, no friends…  Just fear and anger and death.  When they did emerge, it seemed as if they were all just relieved to be out of that hellhole…

 

_Out of their perpetual cage match._

 

“i should probably go.”  Sans’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts.

 

“O-Oh.  Okay.  Um...  Thanks for dinner.”  I look back down at the remains of the pizza, the cheese covered in that matte finish that signifies room temperature grease.

 

I feel the bed shift as he gets up and puts his jacket back on.  He shoves his fists into his pockets and seems to hesitate a bit before saying, “i’ll let you decide if you wanna keep doing this.  you know where to find me.”  He turns on his heels and walks out my bedroom door.  A few moments later I hear my front door open and then close, the noise echoing through my apartment.

 _Welp_.

 

* * *

 

 

I slept terribly.  I don’t know if it was because of my newly tobacco-scented sheets, or just the nagging thought in the back of my head that I slept with my stalker.

 

Regardless, I decide to get up early to start my chores.  I notice when I crawl out of bed that everything south of my bellybutton and north of my kneecaps _hurts like shit._ Wow, I guess he really did a _bang up job_.

 

…

 

Or maybe I should just go swig some bleach to _wash that terrible pun out of my mouth._

 

I walk into the kitchen to grab some breakfast, but the shards of the wine bottle and my glasses are still scattered in my kitchen.  The deep maroon wine is splattered all over my lower cabinets.  I groan, grab a bucket, and start to clean it up. 

 

* * *

 

 

Brittany and Serena invited themselves over later tonight for some drinks and friendly conversation, but mostly I think they were just curious about how my week with the skeleton went.

 

And, of course, the first thing Serena asks me is how my third date with Sans went. 

 

“It was okay,” is all I say.  She’s obviously not very happy with my response.

 

“That’s it?  Did you…  You know.  _Do_ anything?”  Serena looks over at me suggestively, fluttering her eyelashes.

 

“Well, uh…  I mean, we fucked.”

 

Brittany’s eyes practically bug out of her head.  “You _fucked_ him?”  I nod in reply.  “I don't believe this!  Just a week ago, you were complaining about how weird it would be to see a monster dick!  And you straight up _fucked_ him?”

 

I shrug. 

 

Serena’s smile is practically taking up her whole face.  “Oh my God, that’s so cool!  Was it amazing?  What did it feel like?”

 

“Yeah,” jeers Brittany.  “What _did_ it feel like?”

 

“I mean… it just felt like regular sex.  Pretty good, actually.  He was definitely a lot better than most of the other guys I've been with.  He, uh…  He bit me pretty hard.”  I pull my shirt to the side to show them the scabbed up bite mark. 

 

“That fucker!  He’s trying to turn you into a were-skeleton!”  Brittany yelps, and I can’t tell if she’s being facetious or not. 

 

Serena snickers.  “You know we’re _all_ half skeleton, right?”

 

Brittany dismisses Serena with her hand and asks, “So what’s he packing?”

 

“What?”

 

“His skele-peen,” Brittany elaborates.  “What’s it like?”

 

What an awkward question.  “Well…  It’s magic.  It doesn’t taste or smell like a dick or anything, but it looks just like the real thing.”  A beat passes.  “Well, maybe more along the lines of a high-dollar realistic dildo, since it was like a bright glowing red.”  Another beat.  I can feel myself blush as I think it.  “It’s, uh…  It’s pretty big.”

 

“Well of course it is!  He can make it as big or as little as he wants, right?” Serena beams.

 

“Why would he ever make it _little_?”  Brittany chirps, not looking up from her phone.

 

I ignore her, deciding to answer Serena’s question.  “I dunno, I never got the chance to ask.”

 

“Well, when are you going to see him again?”

 

Um.

 

“I don’t really know if I want to see him again.”

 

Serena’s smile turns into a small frown.  “What?  Why not?”

 

 _Um_. 

 

“I—I dunno, it just doesn’t feel right,” I lied.  I don’t want to see him because he stalked me, and then tried to project his own feelings onto me when he tried to fuck me. 

 

…why don’t I just tell them that he stalked me?  They’re my best friends.  Why can’t I…?  I glance over at my French doors to my balcony, the curtains drawn tightly.  Am I afraid they’ll tell me to stop seeing him?  Isn’t that…  Isn’t that what I want?

 

“Come on, X.  Aren’t you tired of this loose woman act?” Serena asks sincerely.  “Settling down might be a good thing for you.  It was for me.”  I always keep forgetting she’s in an open relationship with her boyfriend while he’s overseas for the winter. 

 

I click my tongue.  “ _Settle_ _down_?  Not with him, Serena.  Maybe an actual human, but not a monster.  A _skeleton_ , no less.”

 

“That’s, um.  Really closed-minded of you, X.”  She looks like a hurt puppy.  “Monsters are people, too, and… just because he doesn’t look like you doesn’t make him less of a person.”

 

I mean, she’s right, but he’s also been _stalking_ me.

 

“If his dick is really _that_ big, I’d want to keep him all to myself, if I were you,” Brittany chimes in, but to what extent she’s helping this conversation, I’ll never know. 

 

“L-Look, I just don’t _like_ him that way, okay?  I guess I was just curious about sleeping with a monster.  So I did it, and now I can get back to my regularly scheduled sleeping around with humans…  That’s all he was.”  My eyes are in my lap, watching my clammy hands interlock.  “An experiment.” 

 

“X.”  I look up at Serena as she takes my hands into hers.  They’re so warm and soft, just like her smile.  “You know that’s not true.  I can see it written across your face, plain as day.”  She gives my hands a gentle squeeze.  “I have no idea what he’s like, but I’ve never seen you act this way when you’re talking about someone you’ve slept with.”

 

“She’s right,” Brittany adds, finally actually contributing to the conversation.  “Usually you’re all about the nasty details, but we have to keep prying to get anything out of you about him.”

 

Serena chuckles, and adds, “And you blush when you talk about him…  Yeah, just like that.”

 

I grumble and look away, but I can feel my blush just getting worse. 

 

“Just do yourself a favor and ask him out again.  He’s good for you.”

 

…good?

 

…for me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at the magic that came out of my Macbook's keyboard!
> 
> I really like this chapter, and I hope you will too. I haven't really written anything fun in a long time... probably 6 years or so. Most of my writing has been limited to school lab write-ups or scientific reviews of primary research. I never knew that writing 2000+ words could be so fun and easy (for the most part), and I'm really enjoying this!
> 
> Thank you for all your kind comments! I read every single one (they get emailed to me directly!) and I really appreciate every word that you guys send to me, and I love all the speculation! To be honest, you guys are kind of helping me guide everything where I need it to go, so thanks for that! 
> 
> I also wanted to give a shout-out to the people who bookmark and subscribe to me, YOU THE REAL MVP
> 
>  
> 
>   
> ~~Also check me out on tumblr whoawicked.tumblr.com~~  
> 


	12. A Classy Drunk

I find myself home alone once again, the neck of a tequila bottle gripped in my fist.

 

Brittany and Serena left a couple of hours ago, and the bottle was half empty so I just thought I’d just finish it off.  I’m curled up on my couch in my pajamas, and I glance at the clock:  1:35 AM. 

 

It’s pitch black in my apartment, save for the flashing lights from my TV.  I’m watching one of those cooking shows where they give the chefs things like acorn squash _,_ some kind of cactus, and… I dunno, _dog vomit_ or some shit and tell them to make it all taste good.  The judges are fuckin’ brutal, all of ‘em stuck up and pishy-poshy.  Probably would have been big disappointments to their parents if they weren’t so fuckin’ famous.

 

During a commercial break, my mouth feels particularly devoid of tequila, so I press the bottle to my lips and take another sip.  It’s sweet and it burns and _ay caramba_ that’s _muy bueno, si señorita_.  Heh…  Look at how much Spanish I know.  When did I learn Spanish?  Hmm…  Uno, dos, tres… cuatro…  Eh…  Shit.  Five, what’s five…?  Oh!  _Cinqo_!  Like the _Cinqo de Mayo..._ Isn't there another holiday like that?  Around Halloween?...

 

...with all the skeletons.

 

I take another sip, maybe a bit bigger than the last one.  I glance at the big glass doors to my veranda, the curtains still drawn.  I bet that fucker is out there right now, smoking like a chimney, trying to catch me in my skivvies.  What a pervert.  Maybe I can just take a quick peak, just—just a little peak.  I know he’s there, he’s gotta be.  He’s gotta be, he’s gotta be, he’s gotta be there, gotta be, gotta be there… 

 

I slip off the couch during the break, and stumble my way to the end of the door.  My back is pressed against the wall beside the door, the bottle still in my left hand.

 

For courage, I take another swig out of the bottle...  The sound of the liquid sloshing against the mostly empty glass fills me with…  nausea, mostly.  But I am determined to catch him again.  Swallowing the lump in my throat, I gently pull the curtains aside with my finger, sticking my face into the opening.  My hot breath immediately fogs up the window, so I have to wipe it away with the sleeve of my shirt.  I blink a couple of times, trying to focus across the street. 

 

It’s just so dark, I can’t see anything…  Dark… Cold…  Is…  Is it snowing?  Those little glimmers…  And it’s started to pile up on my porch.  What?  When did it start snowing?  There’s…  There’s so much on the ground already, like…  I dunno, four inches?  Oh my God…  What if I—I take another sip—What if I made a snow angel?  I haven’t done that since I was a little girl…  That sounds like—sip— a lot of fun.  What a great selfie opportunity too…  Brit and ‘Rena would love to see that.  Oh my God, I’m gonna—I’m gonna do it!

 

I’m giggling like a hyena at the thought, and try to find my snow boots in my entryway closet.  Ahhh, there they are.  Fur trimmed, in the back.  Haven’t had to use them yet this year.  Just gotta… slip ‘em… Whoa…  slip ‘em on... Fuck.  Gravity is just working against me.  I sit down on my ass and find it much easier to pull them flush with my feet, making sure to tuck my sweats into them.  I reach into my closet and grab my coat off its hanger, too.  Do I need gloves?  Nah, it’s hard to take pictures with gloves on. 

 

Uhhhh let me see…  Legs… Feet… Jacket… Uh, maybe a hat for my head?  I grab my little sock beanie with the cute pompom at the top and pull it snugly over my ears.  Doesn’t this have a matching scarf?  After a bit more digging around, I manage to find it tangled around another pair of boots.  I find my phone on my coffee table and shove it into my pocket, and zip my jacket up over my t-shirt. 

 

I am ready to brave the elements and get the perfect selfie.  But first…  I grab the bottle and take a victory sip.  I decide to bring the bottle with me out my door, down the corridor and then the elevator.  The revolving door gives me a bit of trouble, but eventually I manage to remember how it works.  I stumble out into the crisp night air, and I’m immediately sprinkled with fat flakes of snow.  I reflexively stick my tongue out and try to catch one, just like they do in the movies.  I can’t seem to catch any, but one falls into my eye and I wince.  

 

Stupid fuckin’ snowflakes.

 

With it being so late, the sidewalk is practically pristine.  Not a single footstep to be seen…  Not a single _person_ to be seen, or even a car.  My inner child is delighted, and I drunkenly press myself to the ground in a fresh patch, nestling my bottle of tequila into the snow next to me.  Now to make the snow angles—I mean… angels.  Haha… snow angles.  Classic.  I start to move my arms and legs in a sweeping motion, but I just keep getting a mouthful of snow…?

 

Waaaaait a second.  I’m on my stomach!  I need to be on my…  My back!  I weakly push myself up and fall onto my back, feeling the sticky snow cling to my chest and sweatpants.  And suddenly I’m just staring up at the sky.  It has dark pink tinge to it, no doubt from the snow reflecting light into the clouds.  Snow falls onto my face, kissing my cheek with little chilly pecks.  I start humming a familiar song to myself, and begin to work on my snow angels again.  My arms are flapping, but my legs are just spread apart on the sidewalk. 

 

I stick out my tongue in drunken concentration and try to move my legs too.  Yes, that’s it!  I’m making snow angels, I’m doing it!  I’m—

 

My phone starts ringing, and it scares the shit out of me.  I fumble into my pocket and pull out my phone.  Who could be—

 

Sans.

 

I sit up from the snow, my legs splayed out in front of me and I feel a clump of snow drop from my back.  I look up at his apartment building, and sure enough, he’s leaning against his railing with a cigarette in his mouth and his phone pressed to his face.  I can barely make out the way he waves at me with his fingers through the darkness.

 

I look back down at my phone and hesitate for a moment.  I press the answer key, and hold the phone up to my ear.

 

“heeey, darlin’. whachya doin’?”  His voice is smooth and deep in my ear, like black satin, but incredibly sarcastic.  I can hear his shit-eating grin through the phone.

 

I suddenly realize how stupid this must look, but I answer honestly.  “…‘m makin' snow angles…  I—I mean!  Uh, making, uh… snow _angels_.”  God I just sound so fucking drunk right now.

 

“uh-huh.  yeah.”  He pauses as he takes a drag on his cigarette.  “weird.”  The speaker crackles as he exhales the smoke.  “’cuz from up here, it kinda just looks like you’re making snow _blobs_.”

 

I bite my lip and look at my side.  The snow is just fucked up beyond recognition, lumps of snow just all over the place.  I…  What am I doing?  This seemed like such a good idea...

 

I can hear him sigh through the phone.  “red, how much of that tequila bottle have you had to drink tonight?”

 

“Nun of yer bizness,” I hiss at him, clutching the bottle closer to me.  I take a long sip just to spite him, finishing the bottle off.  It burns going down my throat, but I've grown to love the burn.

 

I can hear him curse under his breath, but then the call is ended.  I’m listening to a dial tone.

 

“can you get up?” 

 

I scream in surprise at the voice behind me, but it’s Sans, his cigarette hanging out his mouth still.  “What the… the f-f-fuckkk,” I hear myself slurring.  “How did… how d-did you…”

 

He picks up the empty bottle, the bone making a small ‘tink’ noise as he grips it in his hand.  “damn, red,” he huffs as he reads the label.  “this is like a sixty-dollar bottle.”  He looks down at me, bewilderment in his eyes. 

 

“M-Makesss the h-hang-govers less… b-b-bad.”  When did I start chattering?  I’m suddenly aware of how cold it is outside, the slow wind biting at my nose.  The snow that had stuck to me has melted and soaked through my pants and jacket.  I wrap my arms around my torso to try to warm myself up, but it’s not working very well.

 

He rolls his eyes.  “you’re a classy drunk, i’ll give you that.”  He takes one last, long drag on his cigarette and flicks it away.  “come on,” he exhales the smoke.   “can you stand up?”  He holds his other hand out to me.

 

I glare at his hand, boney and white, the cuff of his jacket pulled back just a hair to expose his wrist bones.  I gingerly reach my hand for his, but miss the first time.  Whoops, drunk vision.  I try again, and I feel his hand grasp onto my own.  He has no skin or blood, but his hand is just so warm, and soft…  I weakly try to pull myself up, leaning onto him for support.  My legs simultaneously feel like both jelly and icicles.  “whoa, whoa.  i gotchya, i gotchya… “ Sans is cooing to me as I try to force my legs to fuckin’ _work_.

 

When I’m finally up to my feet, he asks me, “can you walk?” 

 

“Tch,” I scoff indignantly, pulling my hand away from his.  “I c-can do anyth-th-thing I w-w-w-want.”  I try to take a step forward, but I feel my ankle give way and oh my God I’m going to eat shit in the snow and—

 

Sans catches me in his arms, wrapping me in his warm embrace.  The familiar scent of mustard and cigarettes surrounds me in a comforting aroma.  “hey, hey, whoa… it’s okay,” he whispers in a calming voice, his mouth right next to my ear.  “i gotchya.  let’s get you inside, huh?”

 

He supports my upper back with one hand and sweeps my legs out from under me in one fell swoop, and suddenly I find myself in his arms.  He shifts me slightly to get a better hold on me, and he starts walking towards the revolving door.  “Wh-Whoa!” I protest.  “What the fuck are you doing?  Let… me… go!”  I try to squirm in his arms, but he’s got me steady in his grip. 

 

He chuckles, the sickly sweet smell of tobacco coming out of his mouth as he exhales.  “i’m just takin’ you home, dingus.  relax.”  He uses my foot to press the button that calls the elevator, and it opens immediately with a loud ding. 

 

“I can…  Get there…  M-Myself!” 

 

“uh-huh.”

 

He uses my foot again to press the fourth floor button, and the elevator closes slowly.  I can feel the soft tug as it begins to ascend, causing a lurch in my stomach.  “Wh-Whoa…”  I groan, stopping my movements to try to fight the incoming nausea.  It eventually subsides, but the nausea is replaced with shivering.  I bury my face into his red sweater, trying to draw in his warmth.  Why is a skeleton, of all things, so fucking warm?

 

The elevator dings to signify it’s at the fourth floor, and the doors open again.  He walks down the corridor to my apartment, and to my surprise, he just walks right in.  Did I not lock my door…? 

 

Apparently I left the TV on and the theme music of the cooking show is echoing into my kitchen.  He carries me over to my kitchen table, setting me down gently in the wooden chair.  “here we go,” he sighs as he places me down.  “let’s get your boots off, huh, sweetheart?”  He stoops to one knee and starts to untie the laces. 

 

I weakly kick him away, but it’s more like a light tap on his hands.  “I c-c-can do it m-m-myself,” I mutter, stuttering like an idiot as I shiver. 

 

Sans chuckles lightly, showing me that gold tooth of his.  “ _s_ _uuuure_ ya can.”  He tugs one boot off my foot, and then the other, tossing them haphazardly on the floor.  My feet are covered in socks, but they feel like ice cubes. 

 

“S-Stop it, I can… I can…” I mumble weakly.  He then starts to slowly unwrap my scarf from my neck, and he gently pulls my knit beanie from my head.  He peels my soaked jacket off of my shoulders, throwing it on the back of another chair.  He scoops me up in his arms again, the soft rocking motion making my eyes heavy.  “What… what are you…?”

 

I’m vaguely aware of his footsteps echoing as his shoes step on the hardwood floor of my kitchen, and then silence as he walks into my carpeted bedroom.  He gently lays me on the foot of my bed, my legs hanging over slightly.  “your pants are soaked, so i’m gonna take 'em off, okay?”

 

I mumble a tired “okay” as he hooks his fingers into my waistband and gently tugs it down.  The freezing and wet cotton slowly peels away from my thighs and calves with a weird sickly feeling, but finally he tugs them off from my ankles.  “You…  You can’t…”  Through my tired and drunken daze, I can see him suck in a breath as he stands upright again.  He mumbles something under his breath, but I can’t hear him.  My eyes are having trouble staying open, and I barely comprehend what he’s saying when he pulls me forward on the bed, forcing me sit up.  

 

“lift your arms up for me?” he whispers.  I feel as if I’m in a trance and I feebly lift my arms over my shoulders.  He calls me a good girl as he pulls the hem of my soaked shirt over my head, and suddenly I’m left in nothing but my bra and panties.  He pulls at the sheets of my bed to turn them down, and then smacks my pillow a couple of times to fluff it up.  “here ya go, crawl into bed, ya little shit.”

 

Ignoring the insult, I pull myself into my bed, the fresh sheets feeling crisp against my bare skin.  My head lays into the pillow, and I feel him pull the covers over me.  I stick my arms under the pillow, turning on my side and trying hard not to fall asleep just yet.  “You…  Sans…” I whisper meekly, feeling my eyes shut for what seems like the final time tonight.  I feel his bony hand rub my shoulder softly, lulling me closer to sleep. 

 

I hear Sans leave my room, and the voices coming into my room from my TV are silenced as he turns it off.  His footsteps echo on the hard floor of my kitchen, and I’m slipping deeper into sleep.  I hear some cupboards opening and closing, and then the faucet running.  His footsteps get closer and closer, and then he walks into my room again.  I try to open my eyes, but I can’t, I’m just too tired and cold and…

 

I hear the soft clunk of glass settling on my bedside table, and I suppose he had gotten me a glass of water.  He’s… He’s taking care of me…  He’s being so… so nice to me…  Maybe Serena was right…  maybe he _is_ good for me…

 

Sans sighs, whispers a hoarse “good night,” and turns to walk away. 

 

Through sheer force of will, I open my eyes just enough to see a blur that looks like him.  I weakly try to grab at his hand, but I miss.  I find myself mumbling his name through my parched lips.  “Sans…”  My voice is barely even a whisper, but he stops dead in his tracks.  “Don’t… go…”

 

He takes my outstretched hand, and he chuckles softly.  “what are you talkin’ about, red?”

 

“Stay…”  I weakly try to squeeze his hand with mine.  “… with me…”

 

He’s silent for a few seconds, and sighs heavily.  “you’re drunk,” he whispers.

 

“Please,” I beg, squeezing his hand as hard as I can.  “…stay.”

 

He takes another deep breath, and then pauses for a moment.  I imagine he’s deciding what he should do. 

 

Finally, I hear as he grumbles, “fuck,” under his breath and he releases my hand gently, letting it fall to the side of the bed.  The sound of rustling fabric fills my ears, and then I hear him kick off his shoes.  He walks around to the other side of my bed and crawls in with a small groan.  He wraps his arms around my exposed stomach, pulling me closer to him and enveloping me in warmth.  I can tell he’s paying special attention not to touch anywhere above or below my tummy, and I can’t help but appreciate that.

 

He sighs when he settles into our spoon, his head resting near the crook of my neck.  “you drive me crazy, ya know that?” he whispers into my ear.

 

I mumble incoherently in response, pushing myself further into his warmth.  My eyes are closed again, and I’m drifting off to sleep.  His warmth, the pillow under my head, the clean sheets, his tight embrace…  It’s too much.    

 

I’m mumbling something under my breath, but I have no idea what it is.

 

“Good…

for…

me…”

 

 

 

 

Sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is why I wrote this whole thing. Enjoy.


	13. Scream My Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smutty chapter ahead.
> 
> Whoops where did 4100 words come from? x___x
> 
> Starting putting Sans's dialogue in lowercase, just cuz.

As I drift slowly back into consciousness the next morning, I can start to take inventory of my surroundings.  My head is resting on something moving…  Up and down, slowly…  Steady.  Like breathing.  My left arm and leg is wrapped around something…  someone sleeping next to me?  I can feel his own arm wrapped around me, his hand gently resting on my back.  He’s warm and smells like… mustard.  The quiet sound of bone tip-tapping on a cell phone confirms that I am, indeed, lying on top of Sans.

 

I open my eyes slowly, and I find myself staring directly into his phone.  The way my face is resting on his chest, he can’t see that I’m awake.  He’s texting someone.  I try to blink a couple of times to focus on the words, clearing away the sleepy mist in my eyes.

 

**_I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU SLEPT WITH HER_ **

****

**_THAT IS NOT IN THE DATING RULEBOOK_ **

****

**_she asked me to bro_ **

 

_Bro_?  I look up to the name of the conversation, but it just says ‘pap’. 

 

**_INDEED SHE DID,_ **

**_UNDER THE GUISE OF MUCH ALCOHOL!_ **

****

**_a drunk mind speaks a sober heart_ **

****

I mean.  That’s one way of putting it. 

 

Sans sets his phone down on the bed and sighs deeply.  I find myself reflexively holding him tighter as his chest deflates.  For the first time I can feel most of his body now that his big jacket is off.  He feels so hollow through his shirt, and yet strong…  Even his bones are hard, but soft at the same time.  His whole body is contradictory; it’s absolutely fascinating to me.

 

I don’t really want him to know that I’m awake yet, but I’m just so curious about his body now.  He kept his clothes on when we fucked, so this is really new territory for me.  I pretend to moan in my sleep and begin to shift around a bit, his hand lifting off my back to allow me to move wherever I want.  I slyly work my hand under his shirt, letting my fingers curl around one of his ribs. 

 

As soon as I do that, though, he tenses up anxiously.  After I’m still for a while, he releases the breath he’d been holding and replaces his hand on my back.  His phone buzzes next to him, and he picks it up.

 

**_DID YOU AT LEAST GIVE HER SOMETHING TO_ **

**_WEAR TO BED AFTER YOU UNDRESSED HER?_ **

****

At this moment in time we both seem to realize that that only clothing I am wearing is my bra, some panties, and my socks.  I can feel him rub his finger on the clasp to my bra.

**_uh_ **

****

**_shit_ **

 

Pervert.  I try to be angrier at him, but memories of last night slowly start to trickle back to me.  I can’t believe my drunk ass thought it would be a good idea to go outside in the snow with dilated blood vessels.  If Sans hadn’t helped me inside, I probably would have passed out until someone found me.  Hypothermia would have set in pretty quickly…  I could have died.

 

‘Pap’ texts back immediately.

 

**_SO SHE’S NAKED RIGHT NOW_ **

****

**_only half naked_ **

 

**_SANS_ **

****

**_FOR LACK OF BETTER WORDS_ **

****

**_YOU HAVE ROYALLY FUCKED UP_ **

 

Sans huffs and throws his phone back down on the bed.  He then sighs gently, and I can feel the hand on my back start to run his fingers through my hair.  I wonder what he’s thinking about?

 

While he’s deep in thought, I decide to take the opportunity to continue… uh, well, feeling him up.  I slowly rub my thumb on his rib, feeling the smooth bone glide against my skin.  He tenses up again, so I stop.

 

“i know you’re awake,” he whispers softly, his voice ringing deep and right in my ear.

 

I freeze.  Caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

 

He pauses, maybe waiting for my response, but I’m too afraid to say anything.

 

“…you tryin’ to cop a feel?” He chuckles coarsely, and I immediately retract my hand from his rib.

 

I lift my head up to look at him.  “ _Asshole_.  How did you know?”  I then notice that the bone under his eyes looks slightly bruised, all dark and purple.  Did he get in a fight?  The bruise looks to just be under both of his eyes…  Maybe a skeletal telltale of a sleepless night?

 

“you stopped snorin’ about twenty minutes ago,” he smiles weakly at me, flashing me his gold tooth in the morning light.  I roll my eyes.  “and…” he continues, grabbing my hand gently and placing it back under his shirt.  “i didn’t say stop.”  He doesn’t take his eyes off me as my hand reflexively curls around his rib again, and I can feel myself blush. 

 

His tone becomes a bit more serious when he asks me, “did you sleep okay?”

 

I nod at him, but turn away shyly as I tenderly start to feel his ribs again.

 

“do you… remember last night?”

 

“Mhm.”  His bones are soft and warm in my fingers, and I find myself trailing a finger along the length of one of his ribs.

 

“how do you… mmm… feel?” he sighs through a moan.  Is he…  Does he _like_ this?

 

I shrug absentmindedly, fingering the spaces between his ribs now.  I mean my head hurts, but it’s not _too_ bad.  I’ve had worse.  (I’m also reluctant to complain to him because of his comment the other night.)

 

“are you… mad at me?”

 

I ponder for a moment, but shake my head no.  “You took care of me, and not advantage of me.  Thanks.”  He beams at me momentarily, but shudders as I start working my fingers around the back of his ribs, getting closer and closer to his spine. 

 

“i—i uh,” he stutters nervously.  “i called the hospital to tell them you wouldn’t come in today.”

 

“You _what_?”  My voice has turned shrill as the panic sets in.  My head shoots up off his chest and I find myself stumbling out of bed, my leg getting caught in a half tucked-in sheet.  How long have I been asleep?  I steal a glance at my clock and _oh my God it’s almost one in the afternoon._   “Shit!  Fuck!  I gotta go, I gotta—“  I try to make a beeline for my dresser to grab some clothes and get ready for work, but Sans does that thing he does.  I can’t move.

 

“whoa whoa whoa, cool your jets, babe.  y’ain’t gotta do _anything_ today.”

 

“No, Sans, I do gotta do _something_ today!  _A lot_ of somethings!  I’ve got the holiday Charity Ball coming up, and I need to meet with the director of the venue, and then check my emails for sponsor updates, and—“

 

I can feel him pulling me back into bed.  “nooo, ya don’t,” he growls at me playfully.  I’m suddenly lying on my side in bed again, facing Sans, and he curls his arms around me.  “you need a day off, red.  they can handle things without you for just one day, right?  besides, i’d say you’re wearing yourself down…”  He has that twinkle in his eyes as he looks at me.

 

My eyes narrow at him knowingly.  “Sans, don’t.”

 

“…to the…”

 

“ _Sans_.  I’m warning you.”

 

“… _bone_.”  He just looks at me with that shit-eating grin.

 

I scream in frustration and shove a pillow into his face.  “You _fucker_!  Quit it already with the stupid fucking _skeleton_ puns!”  I get up on my knees and press my weight into the pillow, half hoping I can smother him and never hear another pun in my life.

 

“aw, you like ‘em,” comes his muffled voice from under the pillow.  “admit it!  they’re hilarious!”

 

I dizzy spell comes over me from the exertion, and I lean back on my knees weakly.  He pulls the pillow off his face and tosses it over the bed.  His smile goes away when he sees me trying to keep everything in focus.  “i mean look at ya,” he continues quietly.  “you need at least one day to yourself, to relax and do whatever you want.”  He catches himself, and then adds, “besides drinking.”

 

I gingerly move my head back down to my pillow.  I mean, he’s probably right.  I’ve been working so much, and I’m just so tired and hungover…

 

I look up at Sans, his head propped up in his hand as he looks at me.  His eyes are half lidded and filled with a certain kind of wonder.  I always considered myself pretty good at reading people, but as I’m looking into his eyes, getting lost in the deep dark void of his eye sockets, I just can’t seem to find what he’s thinking.  He’s just always been so mysterious to me, practically like the love interest in a steamy adult fiction novel.  “You know so much about me, but I feel like I hardly know anything about you.”  I find myself just thinking out loud.

 

He looks caught off guard for a moment, probably not expecting me to want to talk about him.  He’s probably just so used to knowing a lot about me, he’s forgotten that I know next to nothing about him.  “well, what do you wanna know?”

 

My mind thinks back to his conversation with ‘pap’ this morning.  “You have a brother, right?”  He nods silently.  “What’s he like?” I continue, curling my knees up to my chest.

 

He ponders for a moment, gathering his thoughts.  “well, you’ve seen him once,” he admits after a while.  “at the store, that day.”

 

“He’s really loud,” is all I really think to say, mostly because that was my main impression of him. 

 

Sans snickers.  “yeah, that’s Papyrus for ya.  but he’s a cool dude!  second highest rank in the royal guard, makes the best italian food i’ve ever had… _tons_ of adoring fans.  likes to kick my lazy ass around, but that’s what bros are for.”  His eyes immediately light up as he remembers something else.  “oh, and he’s a total fuckin’ badass, too!  one time… heh, i was on my way home from grillby’s, a-and there were these assholes that… and he…”  His eyes slowly dim as he remembers his story, trailing off in the middle of his thought.  He seems to catch himself, and finishes quickly with, “y-yeah, well, anyways, h-he’s just really fuckin’ cool.”

 

I decide not to pressure him any further on that.  “Um… what’s your favorite color?”

 

He grunts in amusement at my question.  “ain’t got one.”

 

“What?” comes my vexed response.  “’Ain’t got one’?  Come on, _everyone_ has a favorite color.”  I find myself curling even closer to him for some warmth, and he rests his arm around my hip.  Feeling a bit fresh, huh, Sansy?  What a perver…

 

Wait.

 

I was about to push him away, but I can feel that familiar warmth between my legs, brewing up a concoction of hormones in my blood.  Being this close to Sans in my bed, in nothing but my underwear, brings my mind back to the night he fucked me.  And _damn_ did he fuck me good.  It’s been so long since I’ve had sex with the same person more than once, and I start pondering what it would be like.  Maybe not as rushed, not as awkward. 

 

And _fuck_ if I didn’t love morning sex (regardless of the time, you get what I mean).

 

My fingers subconsciously work their way under his shirt again, malicious intent creeping through my fingertips.

 

“not me,” he huffs, shrugging my question off with an amused grin on his face.  “why, what’s _your_ favorite color?”  The derision in his voice is palpable.

 

I retake his rib in my warm fingers, staring directly into his eyes.  “Red,” I breathe innocently.  He tries to laugh, but my touch reduces it to a deep breath and a grunt. 

 

“th-that’s, uh…  heh, _figures_.”  His breath is hitched, but he’s still trying to keep his voice calm and aloof. 

 

This is fun.  Let’s see how much anatomy I remember from college.

 

“What’s your last name?”  I start trailing my fingers seductively along his warm bones, reaching up towards his sternum. 

 

“i—i don’t have one…” he chokes out, trying to avert his eyes from my suggestive gaze.  My hand grazes past his clavicle, more colloquially known as the collarbone.

 

“Would you ever want one?”  My fingers trail back down his ribs, counting as I go.  _One… two… three…_ My mind is swimming in my own lascivious intentions; all I want is for Sans to fill me up with his cock like he did before.  I want him, I want him, _fuck me_ …

 

“i… i…  what?”  He can’t seem to comprehend the question.  His face is flushed with red magic, and beads of sweat have started to form on his skull.  In a moment of his weakness, he looks down into my eyes, and I’m sure he can see the lust in my gaze.  “r-red, what are you…?”

 

I cave immediately, tenderly pulling him into a sloppy kiss, my arm wrapping around his neck and my tongue slipping into his mouth.  I can feel him stiffen at first, but then his tongue starts to dance and swirl with my own.  I can feel his mouth curl into a smug grin as he embraces me with his arms, pulling me in closer to his body.  I curl my leg around his own, feeling his warm bulge slowly growing near his pelvis. 

 

“your breath… smells like dog shit,” he pants between kisses, his voice laced with arousal.  I instinctively grab his spine and give it a tight squeeze, and he moans roughly into my mouth.

 

“Shut up and fuck me, Sans.”  My eyes are glazed over with desire, and having his cock press against my thighs just makes me even hornier.  I need him like a fish needs water at this point.

 

His mouth crushes against mine with even more fervor, and he starts to pull me on top of him.  My knees are planted on either side of him, our tongues battling for dominance.  I grind my sex over his groin, the wetness seeping through my panties and onto his shorts.  I hungrily swallow his needy groans, his skeletal fingers digging into my waist as he holds me.  His hands slowly work their way up my back and start to fiddle with my bra clasp.  I’m actually thoroughly impressed with how quickly he unhooks the clasp, and he tugs at the bra to pull it from my chest. 

 

His hands roughly start groping my breasts, kneading and squeezing them and rubbing his thumbs over my rosy nipples and _oh my God, yes…_   He gets the idea to start pinching them softly when an involuntary moan rolls out of my throat, and he’s gradually applying more and more pressure as my moans get louder and longer.

 

Our mouths finally break apart, and I’m about to protest when he leans forward and gently takes my right nipple into his mouth.  I moan and embrace him closer to my chest, and _oh God that feels so good…_   He surrounds my nipple with the flat of his red tongue, leaving a softly glowing trail of red saliva, while his hand gropes at my left breast.  I’m grinding against his cock even harder, and I can feel it throbbing underneath me.  He gently nips at my nipple with his sharp teeth, and I groan and arch my back in rapture.  Giving my right nipple a break, he switches to the left one with his mouth, swirling his tongue around it like an ice cream cone on a hot summer day.

 

I reach my hand down to his cock, feeling the wet spot from my arousal on his shorts and the outline of his cock.  It’s just so fucking big, and I want him to fuck me senseless with it, to leave me so sore I’m unable to walk straight.  I pull him away from my breasts to kiss him again, though I’m not really kissing him as much as I am just licking the inside of his mouth.  I excitedly grab for the hem of his shirt and start to tug it up and over his head, finally getting a glimpse of his torso.

 

“Whoa,” I breathe.  Sans really is just a skeleton.  We’re both still panting heavily from our heated thirst for each other, but I find myself just staring at his body in awe.  His chest heaves up and down as he pants, but there’s nothing in the porcelain bones of his chest cavity.  Red magic spreads across his cheekbones as I gingerly brush my fingers along his ribs again, eliciting a deep groan, a guttural and almost animalistic sound, from the skeleton underneath me.  He watches my hand intently as my fingers trail along his ribs and up his sternum, and then down to his spine pressed into the bed.  I gently press a finger into a vertebra directly underneath his sternum, and drag it down the length of his spine.  He bucks his hips into mine, obviously wanting more than the gentle teasing. 

 

Although the temptation to keep teasing him is alluring, my sadistic nature gets pushed aside by my hedonistic desire to fuck.  Quickly snapping back to reality, I fumble with my panties and awkwardly try to pull them from my hips.  Sans chuckles at me as I finally pull them off, my dripping sex free in the cool air of my room.  I pull the elastic of his shorts down just enough to make his bulging dick pop out eagerly, red and glowing.  I don’t waste any more time and quickly swing my leg back over him, pressing my labia to his member.  His hands instinctively rest on my hips, and I can feel him jerking at me to try to get me to slide it in. 

 

Here’s that sadistic nature cropping up again: I lean over him with a smug grin on my face, and I breathe into his neck, “Tell me how bad you want me.”

 

“heh, just as bad as you want me, baby,” is his arrogant response.  If I had better control of myself, I’d have goaded a better response out of him, but I don’t.

 

I gasp as Sans’s cock slips inside of my cunt much quicker than I had expected.  He groans and sucks in a deep breath as we both stay still, feeling each other and waiting to get used to the incredible feeling washing over us.  I sit upright on his cock, slightly arching my back and curling my fingers around the bottom rung of his ribs.  My pussy is acting like a vice grip on his dick, my Kegels definitely coming in handy right now.  After a few moments, I finally decide I’ve gotten used to the initial feeling and start to rock my hips back and forth over his cock.

 

Involuntary moans start escaping from my throat, and I thoughtlessly clamp my hand over my mouth to prevent more from leaking.  I feel Sans’s bony fingers wrap around my wrist and abruptly pull my hand away from my mouth. 

 

“don’t.  i wanna hear you scream my name.” 

 

His red iris is flaring as he watches me expertly ride his cock, his eyes scanning up and down my body.  I feel my heavy breasts bouncing with the motion, and he grips my hips eagerly.  He thrusts his pelvis into my hips to match each of my movements, making him go inside me sooo deep.  My mind is drowning in the electric pleasure from his cock gliding against my inner walls, and I just keep moaning senselessly.  “Yes, God…  _Sans_ … Your cock… feels… so fucking gooooooood,” I drawl between breaths.  “Pleaaase, fuck me faster, harder…  Give me your cock!”  He shoves my pussy down onto his cock roughly, but holds it still inside me.

 

“Noooo, don’t tease meeee,” I mewl, trying to grind on his cock as he struggles to hold me still.  He’s obviously trying to concentrate on something.

 

“red, i— i won’t make it much longer if ya keep— _fuck_ , that feels good.”  Even though we just started?  His groans only make me want to keep going, so I keep grinding my hips on him faster.  He laughs forcefully through gritted teeth.  “heh, fine,” he hisses, and renews his efforts in ramming me down onto his dick powerfully.  “you fuckin’ asked for it.”  His cock is bottoming out inside me, pounding against my cervix, and I’m moaning and gasping for breath and _shit he feels so fucking good._

I feel his phalanges dig deep into my hips as he pushes inside me one more time, finally releasing his magic.  I continue to gyrate my hips on his dick with a slow rhythm, letting him ride his orgasm out gently.  Sans looks up at me with a satisfied grin, sweat dripping down his forehead. 

 

I smile at him triumphantly, and lean down to kiss him sloppily.  “You’re not done, are you?”

 

Sans bucks his hips into mine, thrusting his cock into me roughly, and forcing a deep breathy moan from my throat.  It’s still just as hard as it was from the start.

 

“get on your knees,” he commands.  I try to contain my excitement, but eagerly swing my leg over him, his cock pulling out with a wet ‘pop’, and bend over beside him. 

I hang my head down between my arms and sway my hips seductively as Sans shifts behind me.  I feel as the tip of his cock rubs at my engorged labia and clit, and I sigh impatiently.  His boney finger trails along my spine to tease me, sending goosebumps down my body.  He gently and ever-so-slowly slides his cock into my pussy again, each inch gradually getting swallowed by my dripping cunt.  I moan hungrily, desperate for more.  When his tip finally pushes into my cervix, I expect him to pull out sharply and start to ram into me like he wants, but no…  He just stays there.

 

“fuck yourself on my cock,” Sans calmly instructs me.  “like a good girl.”

 

I obey, shifting my hips forward and feeling his dick pull out of my cunt, and then rocking back onto his cock, moaning with desire.  He rests his hand on my hip to guide me, but lets me do most of the work.  I’m just so _needy_ and I can’t get enough of his cock and—

 

Sans makes a noise somewhere between a chuckle and growl.  “come on, red.  that all ya got?”   He reaches around my thigh and presses his index and middle fingers to my swollen clit.  “show me how ya wanna be fucked,” he continues, nipping at my back lightly with his teeth.  My brain is clouded with nothing but thoughts of _fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me_ and I start to ram my ass into his cock, feeling my orgasm welling within me.  Sans seems pleased with me as I can hear his own grunts of pleasure, but I know I’m still not going fast enough for him.

 

He breaks down and grabs my hips roughly, digging in so hard I think he might draw blood, and starts roughly fucking me like his life depended on it.  In and out, in and out, over and over again.  I’m screaming “Yes!” over and over again, and _oh God it just feels so good_.  My pussy is aching for release and my hand moves to where his fingers were and my fingers begin to swirl fast circles around my nub.  A loud slap echoes through my room as he slaps my ass, probably leaving a huge red skeletal handprint.  My pussy clamps down on his cock and I can feel him have more trouble fucking me, even with how turned on I am. 

 

“you gonna cum for me, babe?”

 

“Yes!  Please, just don’t stop, don’t stop _fucking me_!” I wail in pleasure, completely drunk on the feeling of his cock pounding into my cunt.  He actually speeds up his thrusts even more and I can feel it coming, and oh God, it’s swelling up and it’s going to be a good one and—

 

“ _Sans_!”  I scream his name as the orgasm builds in my sex and sends waves of pleasure splashing into the rest of my body, crashing into me like a tsunami.  His name turns into a throaty cry of pleasure as he continues his thrusts inside me, the white hot orgasm making my vision blurry. 

 

I can feel my pussy clamp down on his cock, the muscles vice-like, and he actually starts thrusting erratically before screaming “fuck!” and filling me up with his magic for the second time this afternoon.  He collapses on top of me with an exhausted huff, his ribs pressing into my back.  We’re both coated in a thin layer of sweat and completely winded as we come down from our orgasmic high.  

 

“so...” Sans gasps after a few moments.  “what else… ya wanna know?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some smut. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
> Comments appreciated.
> 
> Gonna try to scrub the sins off my back tonight.
> 
> Also go ahead and check out the little [deleted scene](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8280398) for this chapter!


	14. Let Loose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters are coming easier and easier to me. I should really work on homework, but I just need to get all my ideas out of my system.
> 
> Some smut at the beginning because that's what I'm all about.

“So why… ahn…  do you like… mm… _mustard_ so much?”

 

Scalding water is dripping down my back, the steam in the air making it difficult to breathe in oxygen.  My shower always gets so warm and toasty, and I just feel like staying in here for hours…  Never mind the kneeling skeleton in front of me with his tongue running up and down my slit.

 

Sans grunts amusedly, sending a hot puff of air onto my pussy.   “why does it matter?” Sans’s low and husky voice echoes through my bathroom.  “it’s fuckin’ _good_.”  I wanted to take a shower after our morning toss in the sheets, and he absolutely _insisted_ on accompanying me.  After I said no the first time, he added the promise of another orgasm…  Who am I to say no to his humble request?

 

Of course, I love playing games with my newfound skelefriend.  I still want to have my conversation with him, but the way his tongue is moving…  It’s making it hard to concentrate on anything besides the feeling.  His magic tongue is taking long strokes over the entirety of my slit, still dripping with the mélange of both of our fluids.  Every couple of strokes he’ll stick his tapered tongue hard against my swollen nub and swirl it around quickly, making me cry out in pleasure.  I have to stifle myself, he isn’t giving me good answers.  In fact, he’s not really giving me answers so much as he is just avoiding my questions…  He really doesn’t like to talk about himself. 

 

“No, it’s just—“ I start, squeezing a moan back into my throat.  “Like… out of all the condiments out there…  Barbeque sauce, ranch dressing… _salsa_.”  My voice hitches in the last syllable as he bears down on my clit again.  _Oh Lord_ …  “Why pick _mustard_?  The piss-yellow acidic purée of a chemical warfare agent?”

 

“heh, when you put it that way, it sounds pretty badass.”  He squeezes my thigh in his bony fingers and he looks up at me, a sarcastic toothy grin on his face.  “you know this isn’t any fun when you keep trying to chat me up like this.”

 

I lift my shoulders into a small shrug, my lips pressed into a perfect bow, feigning nonchalance.  “Maybe you’re just not good enough to hold my attention.”  I try to stop my lips from curling into an eager smile as I watch his red eye flare at the challenge, the magic tendrils snaking out of his socket. 

 

He doesn’t waste his breath on a quippy retort ( _oh fuck he means business_ ) and instead just dives straight into my cunt again, licking his tongue wildly into my slit.  I practically scream under his touch, feeling all of my nerve endings stimulated at once.  He teases my sore entrance with the tip before thrusting it inside with conviction.  He can’t pull his mouth away from my delicious sex to say anything, but I can practically hear his pissed off tone in my head: _‘this fuckin’ bitch here,_ not good enough _?  i’ll teach her a goddamned lesson, how do you like_ that _, you little shit?  do i have your attention_ now _?’_

He shows no mercy on my sweet little cunt, and I start to feel that familiar coil of tension building up in my abdomen.  My legs are starting to turn to jelly and I have to lock my knees to keep from collapsing.  His tongue is nowhere near as big as his cock, but it’s still pretty long and he’s reaching pretty deep.  I breathe his name hoarsely through a moan, and Sans takes the encouragement as an opportunity to shove a couple of bony fingers into my cunt, replacing his tongue. 

 

His tongue starts to move back to my clit where it caresses the engorged bundle of nerve endings, and his fingers are fucking me roughly and getting so deep.  With each thrust inside me, he curls his fingers into that soft spongey area deep within my cunt and dark spots start to cloud my vision.  He’s very well-versed in human anatomy, oh yes he is…

 

“Oh God, yes…  K-Keep going, Sans…”  The steam from the shower is getting sucked violently into my lungs, the water-saturated air making me feel like I’m going to drown.  I can feel the heat rising into my abdomen and Jesus, I’m getting so close, I can feel it coming… 

 

And then he pushes me over the edge with one last thrust with his fingers into my spasming cunt, curling his fingers rapidly on my sweet spot and licking my clit furiously with his tongue.  I practically sing his name from the various hitching in my voice as I cum hard, harder than I remember cumming from oral sex in a long-ass time.  The black spots gradually become larger and larger and my vision goes blank as that coil in my abdomen finally releases, sending waves of pleasure through my body.  I can feel myself get goosebumps as he keeps touching my body and I start to quiver and jerk at the overstimulation.

 

“S-S-Sans, s-sto— _stop_!”  I have to shove his face away from me to get him to stop, and suddenly I’ve collapsed to my knees, absolutely winded.  My face is covered in a post-orgasmic blush, and I look over to Sans with glazed-over eyes. 

 

He’s wiping away my fluids on his cheek, revealing that shit-eating grin on his face.  “ask me if i like to cook.”

 

“Wha…  What?”  I huff, the steam getting in the way of the oxygen my brain desperately needs.

 

“just ask me.”

 

“Do you… like to… fuckin’ cook?”

 

“nah, i mostly just _eat out_.”

 

I’m too weak to do anything except smile, and so I smile at him and chuckle.  Crude, but I have to admit that it was actually pretty funny.  “Good… one…”

 

I hang my head and look over at the drain sucking down all the hot water.  I should probably take an actual shower now. 

 

* * *

 

 

Twisting my hair into a towel, I walk into my kitchen to find something to eat.  Sans is sitting at the breakfast bar, now fully dressed and tapping away at his phone.  He looks like he went home to get changed while I was getting ready, actually.  A white turtleneck under a dark, deep burgundy jacket with a grey hood, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  He changed out his shorts for some black track pants, tapered at his ankles.  He was still wearing his dirty red sneakers. 

 

Dare I say it: he actually looks kind of nice. 

 

He has a powdered donut stuffed in his mouth, and a box of at least a dozen more assorted pastries and donuts is open next to him.  There’s a can of some kind of energy drink next to him, too.  Jeez, how much sugar can one monster put into their body?

 

“The hell is this?”

 

“b’eakfast,” he mumbles through the donut in his mouth.  I never heard the door open when he left, or when he came back.  When did he get those?  He doesn’t even look up from his phone as he pushes the box towards me.  He takes a bite out of his donut and tells me to “eat” through a mouthful of sugar.

 

I look back down the box of pastries, and I can feel my mouth watering as I eye that little rainbow sprinkle-covered chocolate glazed.  Oooh, it has my name on it… but my nagging brain slaps my hand away.  “I don’t eat donuts, they’re bad for you.”

 

That gets his attention.  He snorts, and looks up to me.  “and drinking excessively _isn’t_?”  I press my lips together and look away.  “go on, got ‘em from a place down the street.  they’re really good,” his voice dripping with honey. 

 

Well, maybe one couldn’t hurt.  I gingerly reach my hand out for that rainbow sprinkle donut ( _come to mama_ ) and take a dainty bite out of it.  The sprinkles and some chocolate coat my lips and some extra sprinkles drop down to the counter.  The sugar explodes on my taste buds and I can practically feel my teeth getting cavities, but _oh God this is so worth it_.

 

Sans chuckles as a small moan of delight comes out of my throat.  “see?  let loose, red.”  He takes another bite of his donut and looks back to his phone.  I hungrily nod and take a bigger bite of the pastry ring, savoring the taste as it hits my tongue.  It tastes like how I imagine heaven smells.

 

“wanna go to the mall today?” he asks with his mouth full.

 

I…  What?  I give him a puzzled look in response, too dignified to speak with my own mouth full.  He looks up from his phone when I don’t say anything in response and notices my glance.  “yeah, the mall.  don’t you like to go shopping or some shit?”

 

I swallow my donut roughly.  “I mean yeah, but why would _you_ suggest that?”

 

“it’s relaxin’, ain’t it?  that’s what your day off is for: to relax ya and help ya feel better.” 

 

“It’s not like I’m fucking sick, Sans.  I’m playing _hooky_.  I’m fine.” I bite the last word bitterly.

 

He laughs, and takes another bite of his donut.  “babe,” he starts, “just roll with me here.  slackin’ off is great, but if you don’t let yourself have fun, it’s not gonna happen.  just let me buy ya something nice, huh?”

 

I glance at him skeptically.  “You wanna _buy_ me something?”

 

He starts matter-of-factly, “of course.  what are boyf—“

 

I clasp my hand to his mouth before he can finish.  Ew… there’s powdered sugar all over his cheeks.  “Don’t! ...say that yet.  I don’t know what _this_ ” –I make a sweeping gesture— “is, but I don’t want to label it.  I don’t know if I can…”  I trail off as I start to think about it some more, letting my hand drop from his mouth.  “We’re not…”

 

I feel his bony hand pat my back a couple of times, and then soothingly rub it.  “yeah, sure, i get it.  don’t gotta explain.  still wanna buy ya somethin’ though, anythin’ you want.”  He leans in close to my face, and he licks the powdered sugar off of his chin with his glowing tongue.  “but i’m just gonna rip it offa ya later.”  I feel my cheeks burning, and turn away from him in embarrassment. 

 

“I have expensive tastes, you know,” I inform him, quickly chomping into my donut again and finishing it off. 

 

“uh-huh.  you know those donuts were like fifty cents each, right?”

 

I begrudgingly shake my head in frustration, rolling my eyes silently. 

 

* * *

 

 

“So what do you think of this one?”

 

The harsh lights of the boutique bear down on me with unrelenting intensity, my red hair beaming like a bright fire.  I walk out of the fitting room again to find Sans still chilling in one of the couches of the boutique, his arm draped over the back of it.

 

I spread my arms to my side and spin around a couple of times.

 

He looks up, studies me for a few seconds, and then shakes his head and goes back to his phone.  “not slutty enough.”

 

I sigh, exasperated.  “Come on, the last one was _too_ slutty!”

 

“i gotta like it if i’m gonna buy it for ya.”

 

I huff and roll my eyes.  I actually really like this dress, and I decide I’ll buy it myself, and wear it to spite him.

 

“ _Fine_ , I’ve got one more, and you’d better fuckin’ _like_ it,” I hiss at him as I retreat to the curtained fitting room.  I had been saving the best for last, after all.

 

After shimmying out of the first dress, I start to work my way into the second one.  Black, tight-fitting bodycon…  Lacy long sleeves wrapping around my thumbs, a dark heart pattern where my breasts push against the soft fabric.  A keyhole on the back showing my pale freckled skin, and the length just barely above my mid-thigh.  Now I just have to zip it up…  Ugh, if I could just… reach the mother fucker…

 

“Sans,” I whine and pull the curtain away.  “Can you zip this up for me?”

 

Sans startles at my voice, and looks up from his phone again.  And oh boy, his face.

 

His white eye lights widen at the sight of me, and a faint crimson blush creeps to his cheeks.  He gets this flustered smile on his face as he stutters, “y-yeah, sure, red.”  He scoots forward on the couch as I approach him and turn around, presenting the zipper at the small of my back.  He rests one hand on my hip (dangerously close to my ass, the perv) and I can feel the pressure as he starts to zip my dress up.  He goes _very_ slowly, sending a chill up my spine with it.

 

“So,” I start, turning around and taking a step back to smugly drink in his gaze.  “Whaddya think?”

 

His jaw is slacked as his eyes run from my chest, the dress just barely showing cleavage, all the way down to my hips, the dress contouring over my curves nicely.

 

“it’s perfect,” he mumbles to himself.  He seems to snap out of his trance and digs in his pockets and pulls out his wallet.  He hastily pulls out a credit card and tosses it to the sales associate standing next to him.  She tries to catch it in her hands, the card bouncing between her hands like a fish out of water before finally catching it between two fingers.  “we’ll take it.”

 

He looks back at me eagerly, that shit-eating grin spread wide across his face.  “you’re gonna turn heads tonight.”

 

“What?  _Tonight_?  What’s tonight?”

 

He chuckles knowingly, and stretches his limbs on the couch.  “well, you’ll see.  it’s a surprise.”  He turns back to the associate and yells at the poor girl, “hey sweetcheeks, ya got any shoes that’d match that?”  She drops what she’s doing at the register and runs to the shoe section.

 

“Sans, where are you taking me tonight?” I press him.

 

“well first i’ll take ya to dinner, then… heh, like i said, you’ll see.” 

 

I watch as the associate brings an armful of shoes over to us, and she presents them to me.  High heels?  I glance over at Sans, still beaming innocently at me.  I don’t know about this…  Part of me doesn’t trust him still.  What if I…  What if I need to run tonight?  I can’t run in heels very effectively.

 

After some thought glancing over the selection of shoes, I brush past the young woman and start to walk over to the wall of shoes myself.  I grab the red cloth high-top sneakers from the third shelf.  “Got these in an eight?”

 

The associate hurriedly walks into the back stockroom, dropping her armful on her counter as she goes.  I turn back to Sans, who watches me complacently.  “red sneakers?  a human after my own beating soul,” he coos, flexing his own sneakers at me. 

 

I roll my eyes.  “I mean if you’re buying, might as well.”  The associate comes darting back into the boutique with a box, and hands it over to me along with a couple of those little sheer sock things.  I sit down next to Sans and start to pull them onto my feet when he stops me.

 

“hey,” he says to the girl.  “you got any tights?  the ripped kind, preferably, but…”  He glances over at me.  “we can do that ourselves if not.”  A soft blush appears on her cheeks as she realizes what he just said, but she just nods and hurriedly runs to a rack next to the shoes and brings a package of sheer black hose to me. 

 

I giggle and open the package and start to pull them onto my feet.  “I thought today was my day to relax?” I struggle to pull the sheer tights up over my thighs, and I lift my dress up just a bit to pull the elastic up all the way. 

 

Sans keeps watching me unabashedly.  “don’t wanna ruin the surprise, but don’t worry.  it’ll be fun.  you can trust me.”

 

Hm.  Can I?

 

I slip the sneakers onto my feet, and they fit like a dream.  I stand up to go look at myself in the mirror, but not before Sans sticks a finger to my thigh and snags the tights.  I turn around, about to shout at him, but he just takes the opportunity to run his bony finger all the way down my other leg, creating a huge-ass run. 

 

“much better,” he murmurs to himself.  I huff and spin on my heels toward the mirror.  I gotta admit, I look fuckin’ hot.  Like a grungy motorcycle babe.  Not my usual—uh, how did he put it? —‘ _faery princess’_ club getup.  

 

I look up at my makeup, and decide my face should at least match the outfit.  I dig my extra eyeliner pencil out of my purse next to Sans, and start to really lay it on thick, smudging it into the corners of my eyes.  More dark lines under my eyes…  Smudge a little bit more and...  I take a step back and observe my handiwork. 

 

I don’t know what he has planned for tonight, but this is fun as hell.  I look _hot_.

 

Sans comes up behind me and embraces me, looking at me through the mirror.  “you’re ready,” he murmurs in my ear.  He pulls the price tag off my dress forcefully, letting it fall to the ground.  The sales associate comes to pick it up off the floor, and presents his card back to him. 

 

“But what about the clothes I came here with?”

 

Sans sighs, taking his credit card back from the associate.  “we can pick ‘em up tomorrow.”  He looks over to her.  “ain’t that right, dollface?”  There isn’t much inflection in his tone, making it seem like he’s just telling her this.  She nods quite eagerly, however, and runs to my messy fitting room to start to clean up.  I wonder if she gets commission on everything he’s getting for me?

 

He looks down at his phone.  “whoa!  it’s almost time for our reservation.”

 

_Reservation_? 

 

He hooks his elbow towards me, asking for my own arm.  “you ready, red?”

 

Uh, well.  I guess I don’t really have a choice, but his words from earlier ring in my ears.

 

_“if you don’t let yourself have fun, it’s not gonna happen.”_

I wanna have fun tonight.  Let’s see what happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find my shitposts on [tumblr](http://whoawicked.tumblr.com).
> 
> I'm trying really hard to keep Sans from sounding too much like a pirate.
> 
>  
> 
> ~~but it's hard~~


	15. If You Have to Ask

“Mother fucking _Muffet’s_?"

 

My jaw is slacked as I stare up at the bright stylized sign, projecting a deep violet onto my face.  I keep reading the cursive sign over and over again, thinking the letters might unscramble themselves from ‘Muffet’s’ to… I don’t know, ‘Stuffem’ or something.  But no, as I blink my eyes over and over again, it stays the same:  _Muffet’s_. 

 

Even though the restaurant just opened a couple of months ago, Muffet’s is, without a doubt, _the_ most highly rated restaurant to have opened in XYZ, _ever_.  Not to mention its reputation for being _appallingly_ expensive.  The pastry chef is a very successful monster, being the restaurant’s namesake and owner, and apparently she is wonderfully skilled in her craft.  I think she had a successful restaurant in the capital, but she got shut down for some reason.  Health code violation, or something.  Must be why she set up shop here.

 

I look over at Sans, who’s trying to finish his cigarette before we go inside.  He has one fist shoved into his jacket pocket, the other gripping his phone with bony fingers.  He thrusts it back into his pocket and takes a drag when he catches my eye, and gently exhales the sickening smoke into a crowd of passersby.  “yeah.  you heard of it?”

 

“ _Heard_ of it?”  I’m incredulous at the moment.  How is he so nonchalant about this?  “ _Everyone_ knows about this place!  The waitlist is already backed up two years!  How the hell did you get a fucking _reservation_ here?”

 

He shrugs loosely, gripping his cigarette between his two fingers and thumb.  He takes another long drag, the end glowing a bright orange, and then flicks it away into the snow, grinding it with his sneaker.  “i got ways,” he breathes as he exhales the last of the smoke.  “c’mon.”  He walks over to the front door, the snow crunching beneath his feet, and swings it wide open for me.  “ladies first.”

 

He grins wickedly at me as I make my way through the door, and into the best restaurant in the entire city.  There’s an absolutely _huge_ crystal chandelier hanging in the main dining room, the soft lights from the torches fixed on its arms yielding a dark and smooth atmosphere…  The walls are painted a deep plum purple, probably making everything so dark.  There’s a piano playing off in the distance somewhere, the gentle notes adding to the hushed roar of laughter and quiet discussions in the dining room.  I had no idea I had stopped just a few paces in front of the door to gawk until Sans brushes past me on his way to the host.

 

…uh. 

 

The host.

 

It’s a spider.

 

A _big_ one.  About the size of my fist.

 

“Hello, and welcome to Muffet’s.  Do you have reservations?” comes its high pitched, tiny voice.  It hasn’t looked up from whatever it is writing down on its notepad.

 

Sans chuckles a bit, causing the spider to startle.  It looks up at him with bug eyes (literally).  “Y-You can’t be here!  Get out, now!”

 

“is that any way to treat your _best_ _customer_?” Sans sighs half-heartedly, leaning onto the spider’s podium.  The spider is visibly sweating (what even?).

 

“You know you’re not allowed in here, bone bag!  Don’t make me call security!”  The spider seems to have gained a bit more confidence, and seems quite incensed to see Sans.

 

“go ahead.  you can call her precious little pet on me, but i’m not leaving.”  He sounds so composed.  “i actually have a reservation.” 

 

“You know very well that you’re banned from _all installments_ of this restaurant since the incident with your brother in the capital!” the spider spits at him.

 

Sans holds his hands up in mock defense of the spider’s words.  “whoa whoa, pipsqueak, chill out!  i’m not here with the boss tonight.  i’ve got a _date_.”  He chucks his thumb behind him, towards me.  The spider’s gaze follows suit, and it glowers at me for a brief moment (even though he’s a spider?).

 

“You can’t bring your human _prostitute_ into this establishment, Sans.  You know ‘ _She’_ would turn me into tomorrow’s dinner special!”

 

“I’m not a fucking _prostitute_!” I pipe up in my own defense.  The spider looks me up and down a couple of times, mild disgust plastered on its (spider?) face.

 

“Could have fooled me.”

 

I’m resisting the urge to squash this eight-legged freak when Sans places his arm in front of me.  He then clears his throat, bringing the spider’s attention back to him as he reaches into his pocket to grab his wallet. 

 

“uh-huh, yeah, now like I said: i have a reservation _for_ ,” he says, voice turned deep with smugness, pulling out four of what I recognize as monster gold, and pressing it into the spider’s podium.  He continues “ _two_ ,” and he pulls out another couple of gold, sliding it next to the other four.  His gold tooth gleams as he smirks down at the spider.  “roundabouts _seven_ tonight.”  He slides one more gold to the spider.

 

The spider looks down at the bribe, then over Sans’s shoulder at me, and then back down to the bribe.

 

“I’m afraid we only have an opening at _ten_ tonight,” the spider replies coolly after a beat.

Sans rolls his eyes and digs out another three gold.  “fuckin’ highway robbery bullshit.  didn’t cost this much to get in when ya had yer place in the capital,” he grumbles under his breath as he slides the three gold toward the spider.  Now, I don’t know much about monster currency or its exchange rate, but I do know some things.  I’m thinking Sans just coughed up somewhere around eight hundred, maybe one thousand dollars. 

 

The spider looks pleased with itself.  “One moment, please,” it mutters with an air of professionalism as it slides the gold somewhere under the podium and turns to gather some menus.  

 

I pull on Sans’s sleeve and hiss into his face, “I thought you said you had a _reservation_ , not a _bri_ —”

 

“This way, please,” the spider informs us as it begins to walk into the dining room, little legs moving surprisingly fast.  Sans flashes me a smile as he shrugs and follows the spider. 

 

I try to be mad, but I have to admit that this is really exciting.  I’m in fucking _Muffet’s._   The realization dawns on me like a tons of bricks, and I find myself practically running to catch up to Sans, completely giddy.

 

As the spider monster leads us through the various tables of people and monsters, I start to realize that I _do_ kind of look like a prostitute.  The human as well as monster patrons are all wearing tuxedos (not formal suits, black _tuxedos_ ), glittering ball gowns, and other business formal attire.  I look down at my red sneakers and the ripped up tights, the runs now much larger than I remember.  I catch a glimpse of my face and hair in a passing waiter’s serving dome, and good Lord my hair is a mess.  I quickly try to smooth down the frizzy curls, and hope that I look mostly alright. 

 

“Here you are,” comes the small voice of the eight-legged host.  It’s a small table in the middle of the dining room, just big enough for the two of us.  Several varieties of glasses and cutlery are placed almost surgically on the pristine white tablecloth, with a couple of long purple candlesticks gently flickering in the dim light.  Sans works his way behind a chair and pulls it out for me, motioning for me to sit with his hand and bowing somewhat facetiously.

 

I place my foot behind me and bend my knees in a just-as-facetious curtsy, and settle my thighs into the cushioned chair.  Sans gently pushes me closer to the table and I watch as he walks around to sit himself into his own chair.  I hear someone clearing their throat and look down, and the spider host passes me a menu.  It is very small, about the size of a notecard.  I politely thank the spider as he walks over to give one to Sans as well.

 

“Order something other than mustard, you _cretin_ ,” the spider snaps at Sans as he tries to take his menu.  “Or else we’re going to have a _problem_.”  The spider releases the menu quickly, causing Sans to lightly biff himself in the mouth with his own fist.  I giggle as the spider uses its little legs to quickly scurry back to the host stand. 

 

“fuckin’ spiders, always so ornery,” he grumbles as he rubs his chin. 

 

“Yeah, they seem to really _bug_ you,” I jeer at him from behind my small menu.

 

He practically snorts.  “good one, red.”

 

“Welcome to Muffet’s,” comes a monotone voice from next to the table, and I can only assume it’s our waiter.  He’s some kind of…  I don’t know, cat-like monster: orange and with small pointed ears.  His white dress shirt is wrinkled to hell with one side untucked, and it looks like he has some sort of stain on his black vest.  He’s slightly slouching, his eyes glazed over and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else tonight.  He’s holding a metal jug of… liquid.  

 

“Can I offer you some—“  His eyes widen in terror as he looks to Sans, and he drops his jug, letting it spill all over the floor.  I quickly pull my feet up to keep my new shoes from getting wet.  I can hear the dining room fall quiet at the sound of the jug hitting the hard floor, but it quickly resumes its normal dull roar. 

 

“ _S-Sans?!_ ”

 

Sans looks up to the monster with his chin resting in his palm, his eyes hooded and that usual shit-eating grin spread on his face.  “burgie,” he breathes happily.

 

‘Burgie’ drops to his knees to hurriedly pick up his jug, Sans’s gaze following him.  “would ya look at that?  they sent us their worst waiter,” he muses to himself.

 

“Fuck you, Sans!” he hisses quietly at the skeleton.  “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?”

 

Sans doesn’t skip a beat.  “you know _exactly_ why i’m here.”

 

Burgie purses his lips and seems to think for a moment.  He glances at me, then back to Sans, and then, with a deep sigh, he mumbles quietly, “Would you folks like any Spider Cider™ to start your meal this evening?”

 

What the hell?

 

Sans leans back in his chair smugly, stretching a bit.  “i think i’ll pass tonight, burger boy.  bring me the usual.  what about you, red?”

 

I turn to Burgie the waiter.  “What is ‘spider cider’?”  Pretty normal question, right?

 

His expression changes to a forced smile.  “It’s the house specialty!  Made _by_ spiders, _for_ spiders, _of_ spiders!”

 

… _of_ spiders?

 

“Uh… no, thank you,” I find myself mumbling politely.  “Do you have a wine list?”

 

I can see Sans narrow his eye slits at my request.  “Would you prefer human or monster wine?” Burgie clarifies.

 

I look over to Sans nervously, who catches my eye as I start to reply.

 

“…huuuumm…” 

 

Sans shakes his head at me. 

 

“…mmmoooon…”

 

Sans nods his head at me. 

 

“…m-monster wine!  Yes.  I would like to see your monster wine list!” I reply, even though I have no idea what the shit is.

 

Burgie looks over at Sans with a puzzled look.  “just get her a glass of the shit from hotland, she’ll probably like that,” he orders for me.

 

“Okie dokie!  I will be right back to take your order!” Burgie turns on his feet and hurriedly shuffles away, leaving me to look at Sans quizzingly.

 

“What does monster wine taste like?”  Oh, fuck!  “Is it even _alcoholic_?” I quickly tack on.

 

“not in the traditional sense,” he informs me.  “it won’t ruin your liver any more than you already have, but it’ll give ya a nice little buzz.”

 

“Magic?”

 

“magic.”

 

There’s a small moment of silence as I take another couple of seconds to look around me.  A table of monsters is looking at us, and I watch as one whispers something to the other.  I suddenly feel very out of place.

 

“Sans, we’re not here just for a date, are we?”

 

“heh.  not exactly.  i need something from burgerpants, but i figured i could treat ya to something nice tonight, too.”

 

“What do you need from him?”

 

“has to do with the surprise, so i can’t tell ya just yet.”

 

A realization dawns on me.  I lean forward, pressing my palms into the table.  “Is that guy your _dealer_?”

 

Sans’s eyes widen a bit, and he leans forward and presses his own palms to the table, mocking my own actions.  “yes.”

 

I’m appalled and I lean back to my chair abruptly.  “Seriously?”

 

Sans cackles at my reaction, practically in hysterics.  “no, babe.  he ain’t my fuckin’ _dealer_ ,” he chokes out through a laugh.  “fuckin’— dealer of _what_ , exactly?”  He wipes away a tear with his finger.

 

I’m at a loss of words as I suddenly realize how silly I must have sounded.  “I—I don’t know,” I find myself stuttering.  “Some kind of monster drug?” I feel my cheeks burning with hot embarrassment.

 

Sans chuckles softly.  “you really don’t know much about monsters, do ya?”

 

“Here you go!” comes an overly enthusiastic voice, obviously fake, from Burgerpants.  He sets a wine glass in front of me, filled with some kind of deep blood orange liquid.  Monster wine.  I look over at Sans, who is handed a yellow polyethylene bottle of mustard.  He tips his head back and squirts a good portion into his mouth.

 

“yeah, that’s the stuff,” he mumbles to himself.  I see Burgerpants’s eye twitch.

 

“Have you had a chance to look over your menu?” he asks through gritted teeth. 

 

I look down at the small menu in my hand, and realize that I haven’t.  “Um, could you please give me another couple of minutes?”

 

He looks at me with that strained smile for a moment, and I think that he might actually explode if he keeps it up.  “Okay!  Be back in a few!”  And with that, he walks away again.

 

I start to read the menu, squinting at the small print. 

 

 

**_ Muffet’s _ **

 

**Spider Risotto**

**Spider Tenderloin with Mixed Greens**

**Spider Chops with Balsamic Glaze**

**Human Lasagna**

“Is… Is everything here made with spiders?” I find myself saying out loud.

 

“not everything,” Sans replies.  He shows me his own menu and points his bony finger at the last item.  “the lasagna is made with humans.”

 

I can feel my stomach lurch, but Sans just laughs again at my gullible ass.  “ _no_ , it’s not made with fuckin’ _humans_ ,” he sighs.  “they always have some kind of human food on the menu,” he continues.

 

I giggle nervously, and look over to my glass of monster wine. 

 

I wonder what it tastes like. 

 

I reach my arm over and grip the stem of the glass with my two fingers and thumb, and look inside it.  It’s just this bright blood orange color, and it looks to be slightly carbonated.  It smells— I stick my nose into the glass— like a combination of sulfur and fresh cotton sheets.  Could be worse, I guess. 

 

Sans watches me intently as I gently press the lip of the glass to my mouth and tip the liquid back onto my tongue. 

 

It’s…

 

 _Indescribable_. 

 

A shiver goes down my spine after I swallow the wine, and I gasp at the feeling.  “Whoa.”  I go back for another sip.  And then another.  And then a big gulp.

 

Whoa.

 

“’s good, right?” Sans asks.  I nod, and tip my nose into the glass again.  “just be careful, that shit tends to sneak up on humans.  take it slow your first time, huh?”

 

I grunt in agreement into the glass as I finish my sip.  I can feel myself starting to get warm and fuzzy, but it’s a different kind of warm and fuzzy from what I’m used to.  I look back to the menu, and something catches my eye.  “How much does this stuff cost? There are no prices on the menu.”

 

Sans takes another squirt of his mustard.  “who knows?  pro’ly one of those ‘if you have to ask, you can’t afford it’ kinds of things.”

 

That is a bit unsettling.  

 

“’s on me, anyways,” he continues.  “get whatever you want.”

 

That’s.  Generous.  The most expensive restaurant in the city, and Sans doesn’t even bat an eye?  How much money does he have, anyway?

 

“Are you ready to place your order?” comes an overly enthusiastic Burgerpants, his notepad in hand. 

 

He’s looking at me, so I suppose I’ll go first.  “Yes, I’ll take the lasagna.”

 

BP scribbles my order into his notepad, and turns to Sans.  “And you, _sir_?”  He grits his teeth on the last word.

 

“surprise me.”  He’s just so smug.  It’s really hot.

 

“Very good, sir,” comes his response, and I think he literally just scribbles nonsense for Sans’s order.  “Coming right up.”  He takes our menu cards and leaves for the kitchen again.

 

Now is my chance.

 

“So, Sans,” I start innocently enough, fingering the lip of my monster wine.  “What do you do for a living?”

 

He practically chokes on his gulp of mustard, and a small bit dribbles down his chin.  He coughs a couple of times, and looks at me nervously.  He pauses a bit, and I first think he’s recovering from choking, but to be honest it’s almost as if he’s hesitating. 

 

“i, uh… i do a lot of odd jobs, here and there,” he mumbles quickly, a nervous smile replacing his usual shit-eating grin.  “i actually once worked at the food truck i took ya to this weekend.  i mostly do things involving free food.  h-hey, so, how about that monster wine?  good shit, huh?”

 

He’s trying to change the subject?  Something is up.  I start to think about what he’s saying…

 

…and it doesn’t make a lick of sense.

 

I live in one of the nicest neighborhoods in the city, with some of the nicest apartments available in the country.  Sans didn’t say he rented the apartment across the street, he said he _bought it out_.  I know he got a discount because of the guy that died, but…  Half of fifteen million dollars is still too much for someone doing ‘odd jobs.’  And the clothes he bought me at that high end boutique, the bribe to get into Muffet’s…  His story doesn’t add up.

 

“You’re lying,” I hiss.  He’s starting to sweat slightly, and he averts my gaze, sucking on the mustard nozzle.

 

He looks over to find my eyes narrowed at his lying ass.  “wh-what?  heh, why would i be lying about having shitty food service jobs?”  He forces a laugh, feigning ignorance.

 

“There’s no way you could afford to live next to me by slinging hot dogs out of a greasy truck, Sans.  Tell me the fuckin’ truth.  Where do you get your money?”  I press my finger into the table for emphasis.

 

“that—that’s fuckin’ rude to ask, isn’t it?”  He’s getting defensive.

 

“ _Sans_.  You want me to trust you?  Tell me the truth.”

 

“…i—i said i have other jobs…”  He’s avoiding the question. 

 

“Like _what_?”

 

He’s sweating much more profusely now; it’s practically dripping onto the table.  His eyes are looking everywhere but at me.  What the fuck isn’t he telling me?  It couldn’t be bad, could it?  Is _he_ the drug dealer or something?

 

I kick his shin under the table, and he yelps in pain.  “Tell me,” I hiss.  “Is it illegal?”

 

“fuckin’ hell, red!  no, i just—“

 

I kick him again.  “Then what the fuck is it?  How do you have so much money?” 

 

“fuck!  quit that!” 

 

“Tell me.”

 

He finally meets my gaze, his face contorted in discomfort and reluctance to tell me his dirty little secret.  

 

“…f-fine, fine, i’ll fuckin’ tell ya!  now can ya _please_ stop kickin’ me?”

 

I hold his gaze as he grips at the tablecloth, and I kick him an extra time for good measure.  

 

“Go on,” I leer at him, crossing my arms.  He grunts in defeated frustration, but sighs as he leans back into his chair.  His face is coated in a grave expression, his grin nowhere to be seen.  He sighs again and leans forward, holding his head in his hands and closing his eye sockets.  He’s quiet for a good minute or so before he finally speaks.

 

“you know…  you know those car engines… that came out a couple of months ago?  …the ones made with monster tech?”  He sounds pained to be asking me this.

 

“…You mean the Gaster?  How could I _not_?” 

 

Of course I know what a Gaster is!  Humans across the world hailed it as the best invention of the twenty-first century when it was first announced.  The engine itself was self-sustaining, inexpensive, and _powerful_ , but never needed to be refueled.  Car companies immediately started designing them into their vehicles, and even designing new vehicles around the engine.  There are also rumors of scientists developing a beta power plant near the capital using the technology, supposedly trying to get rid of nuclear power. 

 

Say what you will about monsters, but they practically solved the world’s energy crisis with that single invention.

 

…But what does _Sans_ have to do with the Gaster engine?

 

Sans chuckles a bit when I say the name, almost like he’s just heard an inside joke.  He scratches at his cheek a bit nonchalantly, and clasps his hands together in his lap, just staring at them.

 

“heh.  i, uh.  i kinda sorta… _designed_ it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wowie!
> 
> Enter Burgerpants.
> 
> I guess a Gaster engine would also be a pun, if you think about it. "gas"ter. 
> 
> Comments are appreciated, as always. I'm surprised no one is speculating at what he's taking reader to do tonight.
> 
> Who knows?  
>  ~~I do~~
> 
>  ~~Updates are probably going to be really quick over the next couple of chapters, so check back in frequently.~~
> 
> EDIT: 11/10/16
> 
> It's taking me a little bit longer than I anticipated to crank this shit out, so it might be about a week or so before I have it completely finished. I think I'm going to write out this whole scene I have planned, and then divide it into chapters and post them all at once. I've got the idea set in my head and it's ~~going to be a lot of fun to write. owo~~ a fun idea, I'm just having trouble between scenes.
> 
> And here's my [tumblr](http://whoawicked.tumblr.com).


	16. What's the Point?

I’m staring at him, my lips pursed into a steely expression.  Sans has his eye sockets squeezed shut, bracing himself for an answer, but I don’t give him one.  He opens one eye and glances over at me, but I still have nothing to say to him yet.  He opens his other eye, trying to scan my expression for some indication of my opinion of what he’s just told me.

 

My lips part slowly and two words come out: “Bull.  Shit.”

 

Sans starts to sigh and runs his hand through his nonexistent hair, but I kick him again, and a bit louder, “Bull _shit_ you designed the fucking Gaster!  Why are you fucking _lying_ to me?”

 

He shouts in pain, and shoots a frustrated glance at me.  “quit that!  regardless of what you think of it, it’s going to remain true!” he grumbles.

 

“Yeah, and I came up with the process for nuclear _fucking_ fission,” I say, throwing my hands into the air.  “How the fuck could someone like _you_ invent something that complicated?  Someone as _boneheaded_ and _vulgar_ and—and _boorish_ and—“

 

“aw, red,” he interrupts, sarcasm dripping from his tone of voice. “name calling?  really?”

 

“Fuck you.  Tell me the truth.”

 

Sans leans back and rolls his eyes.  “that is the truth, i told you.”

 

I lean forward, pressing my palms into the table and glaring daggers into his own eye sockets.  “Then _fucking_ _prove_ _it_.”

 

Sans sighs and presses his head into his hands again, completely exasperated.  He stays silent for a beat, and then he mumbles, “i can’t believe i’m showing you this.” He rummages into his jacket pocket and pulls out his phone.  After a bit of rough tapping on the screen, he sets it down on the table and pushes it towards me.  I look up at him, and back down at his phone.  I gingerly pick it up and look at the screen.

 

It’s a picture of Sans in a white lab coat, wearing the shoes he has on right now.  It couldn’t have been too long since this was taken.  He’s holding a black picture frame.  His expression tells me that he’s none too happy to be posing for the picture, his gaze directed toward something off to the side.  His mouth is open, like he’s yelling at someone.  I tap the picture to zoom in on the picture frame.

 

It’s a diploma in his name from the university in the capital.

 

…it’s a doctorate of philosophy in theoretical quantum physics.

 

I look up at him.  He’s squirting some mustard into his mouth.

 

…What the fuck?  A PhD?  _This_ guy?

 

He gulps his mustard down, slamming the bottle onto the table.  He looks like he’s blushing slightly as he scowls at me.  “keep swiping, there’s more.”

 

My attention goes back to the phone and I hesitantly slide my thumb over the picture. 

 

The next one is another picture of Sans, but there’s what looks like a yellow dinosaur woman in the picture.  She’s smiling gleefully with her arm wrapped around the skeleton.  In fact, it looks like she’s the one taking the picture: her other arm is reaching just out of the frame in what I assume to be a selfie.  Sans is looking down at the ground, his eyes averted from the camera, some red blush peppering his cheek bones.  He looks to be holding blueprints of some kind, tucked into his arm. 

 

I swipe again.

 

This picture was taken by someone entirely different since the dinosaur woman was standing next to Sans in this one.  Maybe the same person as the first picture…?  There’s a blurred finger in the upper left-hand corner.  Sans is leaning over a work table with his finger pressed into some open blueprints.  The same ones from the last picture?  His mouth is hanging open like he’s talking to the gaggle of humans and monsters watching over his shoulder.  They’re all dressed in white lab coats, and some are holding clipboards…

 

I swipe again.

 

This one is blurry as all hell.  It looks like Sans is trying to cover the camera with his hand and keep whoever was holding his phone from taking it.  His red eye is flaring and he’s baring his sharp teeth in anger, but my eye is drawn to something in the corner.  His blueprints are pinned to a corkboard, and that’s when I see it.

 

The Gaster insignia.  The logo plastered on everything made with the engine.  The badass skeleton dog… _thing_.

 

I slowly look up to Sans in wild disbelief, trying to find out just what the fuck I’m even looking at...

 

“You…”

 

“yeah, i fuckin’ _told ya_ so.”  I can barely hear as he calls me a bitch under his breath, mumbling about how I was kicking him for no good reason.

 

“Sans,” I breathe slowly.  “You designed the Gaster?”  It’s more of a statement than a question.

 

“ _yes_.  that’s what I’ve been _trying_ to tell you.”

 

“But…  But how?  You’re not…  You’re just so...”

 

“ _’boorish’_?” comes his facetious growl. 

 

I can feel my cheeks burning in hot shame, and reach for my glass of monster wine.  As I bury my nose into the glass, trying to think of something to say, Sans sighs and leans forward, clasping his phalanges together and gritting his teeth.

 

“i did research in the underground, okay?  before my brother conned me into being a sentry for the royal guard.  i specialized in…  heh.  space-time, i guess you could call it.  but it wouldn’t do me any good up here.  the kid… they promised they wouldn’t…” 

 

He seems to catch himself and clears his throat.  “…i got sick of it when we came topside, i guess.  just brought back bad memories.

 

“so my buddy from the capital…  she talked me into getting a degree from your human university, wanted me to _do_ somethin’ with my life. 

 

“the gaster was my thesis project. 

 

“i wanted to take my time with it, but the university tried to get me to teach classes to their little human _runts_.  shit got real old _real fast_ , so i started to pick up the pace. 

 

“got my degree just a few months after we came topside.  the university caught wind of my little project, called some lawyers from the patent office, and…  well. 

 

“suddenly i was rollin’ in a lot of dough.”

 

“Sans,” I breath, just barely above a whisper.  “You’re ri—“

 

“fucking miserable.”  He looks up at me with just this horrible look of pain in his eyes.  “i never wanted the money, red.  it just collapsed on top of me, and suddenly i’m…  i’m _suffocating_ under the weight of it all.”

 

He seems to catch my surprised look, and continues, “i mean, yeah, it was fun at first, _sure_.  i didn’t have much in the underground, so i was excited to finally have enough dough to do more than scrape by in my life.  i was flat _broke_ down there.  shit _sucked_.

 

“so i bought a nice house for my brother and i, just outside of the capital.  real nice…  had a pool and everything.”  He seems to be reminiscing in some memories before starting again.

 

“i got lonely after a while, though.  asked my bro what i should do next, and he suggested that i start goin’ to clubs to meet a nice monster. 

 

“and boy, were they nice…”  He grips his mustard bottle a little bit harder. 

 

“i know it’s probably not what he had in mind, but stars, they did _anything_ i wanted ‘em to if i so much as _talked_ about my money.  even the humans started sniffin’ around after a while, and who was i to tell ‘em no?  they loved the money more than anyone.

 

“started actually gettin’ a taste for human women after a while.  they were always the sweetest, their blood laced with fear and lust.  i’ve probably fucked the majority of the whores in the capital by now.”  He seems quite proud of that.

 

“but soon it just got old…  i couldn’t take it anymore.  they always said _yes_ to the right amount of money.  there was no challenge, no fight…  it wasn’t fun anymore.  with all the money i had, no one ever told me _no_.

 

“so i tried to be fuckin’ nice and _donated_ all the money, just to get rid of it all.  and you know what?  the sons of bitches in your government actually _gave_ _me_ _more_ _fuckin’_ _money_.

 

“it was like a virus, growing exponentially in my bank account.  i didn’t want it anymore, but no matter how hard i tried, it wouldn’t go away.

 

“i tried to forget about it.  got some shitty-ass jobs to try to make it seem like my life sucked for different reasons, but it was pointless. 

 

“i locked myself in my room most days, spent my time masturbating and trolling my brother on the internet with dumb-ass jokes when i wasn’t sleepin’, but…”

 

Sans smirks innocently, giving a light chuckle as he looks up at me.

 

“what’s the point of bein’ a lazy good-for-nothin’ when you don’t have actual responsibilities to shirk?”

 

He stays quiet for a couple of moments before gripping his mustard bottle and tipping it back, squeezing what’s left of it into his mouth.  The bottle makes a disgusting ‘ _splurt’_ sound.  He wipes his chin with his forearm and chuckles shortly, a thin smile spread across his face.

 

“sorry, red.  didn’t mean to monologue at ya again.”

 

I purse my lips, and reach my hands across the starched white tablecloth, taking his bony hand into mine.  He blushes slightly, and looks at me with apprehension written plain in his eye sockets.

 

“Sans,” I start quietly, giving his hand a light squeeze.  “I…”

 

“…y-yeah, red?”

 

“I…”  His eyes have gotten huge, waiting for me to finish my sentence. 

 

_Oh my God._

 

“…I can’t believe you’re a fucking _nerd_.”

 

Sans’s eyes glaze over, his mouth pulled into a thin line. 

 

“I mean—“  I choke back a snort and pull up his phone and turn back to the first picture, showing it to him.  “ _Look at how cute you look in your white lab coat.”_

“fucking!— _gimme that_!” he hisses as he snatches his phone out of my hand, his cheeks turning a bright crimson.  “f-fuck you!”

 

“So should I call you ‘ _Doctor Sans’_ from now on?” I jeer at him innocently.

 

“only if you’re naked, and only if i call you ‘nurse’ first,” he quips at me, shoving his phone back into his pocket. 

 

Haha, he recovers quick, doesn’t he? 

 

I watch as he grabs a passing waiter by the sleeve, scornfully shaking his empty mustard bottle at them to rudely request another.  I watch the waiter nervously nod to him and scramble away as I take another sip of my monster wine. 

 

It’s actually starting to hit me a bit more.  That fuzzy feeling is creeping all over my body, and it’s so different from anything I’ve ever experienced.  It’s actually quite pleasant.

 

“But Sans,” I start as I gently place the glass back onto the table.  “Real talk here.  Why did you hesitate to tell me that you designed the Gaster?  That’s actually a pretty cool accomplishment.”

 

Sans blushes and looks away.  “y-yeah, i know, but...”

 

The waiter returns to place another bottle of mustard on the table and takes away the empty one.  Sans immediately clutches it into his grip, probably anxiously searching for something to do with his hands.

 

“people always look at me… _differently_ when they know that i have money.  _especially_ women.”  I watch as he twiddles his thumbs around the plastic bottle pensively. “and i…  i wanted to…  make sure that you saw me… for _me_ , y’know?  and not for how many cars or private jets that i can buy for ya, o-or—what’s that expensive fish shit called?  oh— _caviar_.”

 

I scoff lightheartedly at his words.  “Sans, I would _never_ want anyone for their money.”  I can feel my chest puff out in swollen pride as I continue.  “I’m pretty well-to-do myself, you know.  Had to work hard my entire life to get to where I am, but I’m not about to give up my livelihood for a _sugar daddy_.”  I find myself snorting through the last two words.  

 

Sans starts to sweat at the mention of the word, like it already has a bad connotation to him.  He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and stutters out, “y-yeah… heh.  okay.  ‘playin’ by the rules’, and all that.”

 

Given the information he’s just divulged, I decide I’m not going to press him any further about that.

 

“But if you don’t like flaunting your money around, then why did you buy me so much crap?” I ask as I make a wide sweeping motion to remind him of the dress, the shoes, the tights…

 

“well,” he starts, his voice lowering a pitch or two, “i figured it would be safe since i’m pretty sure that you just see me for my _huge cock_ more than anything, at this point.”

 

He deadpans. 

 

I stiffen in my seat, and I can feel that hot blush rush into my cheeks. 

 

I mean.

 

_He’s not wrong._

 

“Here you are!” comes that familiar forced enthusiasm, and suddenly a plate of lasagna is thrust in front of me. 

 

_Phew._

 

As I look down at my plate, I have to admit that it looks pretty appetizing ( _and I’m praying to God Almighty that it does_ not _contain spiders)._

 

“And this one was made _special_ for you, _Sir_ ,” Burgerpants grits with forced politeness.  Looks like the chef decided to surprise Sans with the spider risotto tonight.  He sets his plate down carelessly, some of the rice dripping onto the tablecloth. 

 

…it doesn’t _look_ like it contains spiders…

 

And then Burgerpants takes out a little black guest check book from his apron and slides it over next to Sans.  “ _Enjoy your meal_ ,” he spits out his words through gritted teeth, and I notice that his eye twitches through the forced hospitality.

 

He turns around on his heels and stomps away, muttering some curses under his breath.

 

Sans casually pushes his plate aside and goes straight for the checkbook.  He opens it and immediately starts looking at the tab…

 

No, wait. 

 

A grin curls onto his face, his gold tooth catching the candlelight, and he pulls out a small slip of white paper from within the little book.  He places it flat onto the tablecloth in front of him, and it seems to be a list.  “What is that?” I ask him quietly.

 

He shrugs, and after a quick glance over it he folds it up and stuff it into his jacket pocket.  “later.  go ahead and eat, huh?”

 

My stomach takes the opportunity to actually growl at me, so I decide he’s probably right.  I gently swipe my napkin over my lap, pressing it firmly into my thighs.  Taking my fork and knife, I politely tear away a portion and slide it into my mouth.  

 

 _Mmm_. 

 

It’s wondrous good, and good _Lord_ I can’t hold back as I go back for another bite!  The sauce is this perfect balance between sweet and tangy and spicy, and the cheeses are impeccably well-melted to this yummy gooey, stringy consistency.  The noodles are cooked flawlessly, and when I slide my knife into the pasta, it holds its structure well enough to yield a slice of heaven I’ve only ever seen in magazines.

 

I reach out for another sip of my wine, tipping it back with gusto, and go back for more of the lasagna and _oh my God I’m at Muffet’s_.  The pasta dish just keeps getting better and better the more I keep shoveling it into my mouth, and yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing right now.  Social convention has gone out the window as I keep stuffing huge bites of lasagna down my gullet and—

 

Heartbreak.

 

I’m staring at what must be the last bite, the very last of my meal from the legendary Muffet’s.

 

A poor morsel, a scrap sitting on a stray dollop of tomato sauce.

 

I twist my fingers around the stem of my wine glass and tip it back all the way, taking the very last drink of my wine and swishing it around in my mouth a bit as a sort of palate cleanser before swallowing with an audible gulp.

 

I take a deep breath, exhaling through my nose.

 

I skewer the last bite into my fork, and tenderly place it into my mouth.

 

I chew.

 

Slowly.

 

Savoring.

 

The last bite.

 

And then.

 

Swallow.

 

It’s gone forever.

 

I’m never going to—

 

“gee, that was fast.  you want another?”

 

Sans’s voice startles me, and I realize that I had actually forgotten he was here for a minute.  He’s leaning forward, resting his elbows on the table (rude etiquette, you know) and looking at me from behind his phone held in front of his face (also rude).  His own plate is pushed aside, not even touched, and I guess he’s just been looking at his phone, waiting for me to finish eating.

 

“N-Nah, I’m good.”

 

He cocks a brow bone at me in skepticism.  “really?  cuz i’ve seen you eat a whole pizza by yourself, on _multiple_ occasions.”  He leans his cheek into his hand, smiling as innocently as possible with his sharp fangs sticking out.

 

I can feel my cheeks burning as the blood rushes into them.  I keep forgetting that he’s probably seen me do a lot of things that I’d rather people not see me doing.  No privacy for months…

 

And then he snickers, covering his mouth with his skeleton hand.  He just keeps looking at me… 

 

“ _What_?”

 

“it’s just that you— heh, there’s something…  hold on,” he chuckles, and he reaches his hand out to my face, causing me to instinctively clench my eyes shut and flinch.  I feel as he presses his thumb into my cheek and— _oh God I have shit on my face, don’t I?_ — he drags it across my skin softly.  I open my eyes as he’s pulling his hand away, and I can feel a lump in my throat form when he studies the red sauce on his thumb. 

 

He smirks and sticks his thumb onto the tablecloth, rubbing the red sauce into the white fabric.  “so you done?”

 

My tummy feels relatively satisfied, so I nod.  But wait.

 

“Aren’t _you_ gonna eat?”

 

Sans’s expression tells me that I’ve just asked a very silly question.

 

“nah, red.  don’t really feel like dyin’ tonight.”  His voice is dripping with vile sarcasm.

 

“ _Dying_?” I repeat incredulously.

 

“yeah.  muffet’s probably back there pressin’ her stupid spider face to the hole in the kitchen door, waiting for me to take a bite of this shit,” he says as he points a bony finger to the plate next to him. 

 

“You think it’s poisoned?”

 

“ _think_?  heh.  yeah.  call it a hunch.” 

 

“Jesus Sans, you guys have a history, huh?”

 

Sans shrugs casually in response.

 

Shit.  Wait.  Was _my_ food poisoned?  Nah… she shouldn’t want to kill the harmless _prostitute_ that walked into her restaurant. 

 

Oh my God.

 

“Sans, do I need to get my stomach pumped?” I ask hurriedly.

 

_Oh God oh God oh God._

 

I find myself trembling.

 

Sans takes a moment to nonchalantly squint his eyes at me, tilting his skull to one side as he studies me intently.  “mmmmnah,” he says after a while.  “you’d have been dead by now, for sure, so no need to worry.”

 

Oh great, I’m _so fucking relieved_.  I find myself holding my head in my hands, my elbows on the table and my eyes wide from anxious fear.

 

“Let’s just get the fuck out of here,” I decide quickly, realizing my inadvertent decision to skip out on dessert.  Well…  With all this alleged poison floating around, it’s probably for the best.  Maybe we can find some kind of café open still and get some cupcakes or something.

 

Sans chuckles that deep chuckle of his, and pulls out some human currency bills in varying denominations.  I can’t see if that’s a $50 or $500 bill, and I feel like I’m having second thoughts about my sugar baby status.

 

I gently lift myself out of my chair, smoothing my short dress over my thighs to make sure I don’t flash anyone.  I start to wrap my peacoat around my form as I ask, “So, where to next?” 

 

“The laundromat,” Sans states simply in one quick breath as he slaps a couple more bills into the black book, and gets up himself.

 

Um.  Excuse me?  He must have noticed my puzzled look as he sweeps his arm around the small of my back, and starts pushing me towards the front of the restaurant.  “yeah.  just run with it, doll.  it’ll be _loads_ of fun.”

 

Just run with it?

 

Where are you taking me, Sans?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmm. I like being vague with the city names and country because I can do shit like make up $500 bills existing. 
> 
> Starting to feel bad about the lack of smut in here lately, but I'm saving it up for something really hawt in a couple of chapters, so be patient. 
> 
> Comments appreciated, as always. If you want me to hurry up on the chapters, bug me on my [tumblr](http://whoawicked.tumblr.com).
> 
> Also thinking of doing a collection of related smutty oneshots involving Blueberry, my second favorite bone bae. Let me know if you'd be interested in that.
> 
> ~~Spot the Pink Floyd reference if you dare~~


	17. So Fucking Slimy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~VIOLENCE WARNING~
> 
> Added some new tags, check 'em out before reading the chapter.
> 
> But it's a good one.

He takes me to a fucking _laundromat_ , that’s where he fucking takes me.

 

I guess I thought he was kidding, but nope!  It’s a run-down laundromat a couple blocks away from Muffet’s, the neon washing machine in the window slowly animating a wash cycle. 

 

“c’mon, we’re runnin’ kind of late,” he mumbles as he opens the door for me. 

 

“Late for _what_?”  I hesitantly walk inside and instinctively start to tap my shoes to knock the snow off of them, with Sans following behind me.  He takes a moment to take in his surroundings once he’s inside, but he quickly starts to move forward. 

 

Not many people are here this late at night, just a human woman folding some towels and a small family of monsters passing the time by playing some cards. They don’t seem to notice us as we make our way into the back of the shop.  The linoleum tile floor has definitely seen better days, and half the machines in the joint are labeled “OUT OF ORDER.” 

 

What a dump.

 

Sans just seems so casual, his hands shoved into his pockets like normal as he walks over to a door near the back, maybe to a supply closet?  I find myself trailing him closely with intrigue, and maybe a hint of anxiety.  He looks over his shoulder to make sure I’m following him, and smirks wickedly at me. 

 

In one fell swoop, Sans opens the door and shoves me inside the closet, causing me to stumble a bit as I try to regain my balance.  I can feel Sans’s back press against me as he closes the door again, suddenly drowning everything in complete darkness.

 

I’m about to scream for help when he grips my mouth with his hand through the darkness.  “shhh, it’s okay,” he whispers to me softly.  I should be terrified, but if I’m being completely honest, his voice is just so soothing…

 

And let there be light!  Sans has pulled the cord to a single light bulb hanging overhead, and I find myself pressed into his chest and staring into his eye sockets.  The light bulb sways above us slowly, the light causing shadows on his face to flicker in something I can only describe as completely wicked.

 

“now i’m gonna let go of your mouth, and you’d better not scream, okay?  i’m not gonna let anything bad happen to ya,” he whispers in that oh-so-soft voice, deep and calm and…

 

 _No_.

 

Quit it, X.

 

I should be terrified right now, but having him pressed against me in a supply closet and his deep, sexy voice just makes me want to… well, _jump his bones_.

 

I firmly nod in response to him, and he lets his hand move from my mouth slowly.  He drags a thumb over my fleshy lip, playing with it as we stare into each other’s eyes for a lingering moment.  Is he just as horny as I am? 

 

“now listen,” he continues, just barely above a whisper.  His thumb starts to press into my mouth, running against my teeth. 

 

I’m very okay with this. 

 

“when we get in there, i need you to do me—”

 

_Yes yes yes yes yes._

 

“—a couple of things.” 

 

_Oh._

Wait, get in _where_?

 

I slowly part my jaw and nip lightly at his bony thumb, feeling his bone under my teeth.  My eyes are hooded and I can feel that familiar warmth crawling into my gut.

 

“stay close to me and do exactly what i tell ya, ‘n’ i promise nothin’ bad will happen to ya.  okay?”

 

He’s so sincere…  I nod firmly once more, and begin to press my tongue into his thumb from behind my teeth.  I can vaguely make out a sound coming from the back of his throat, but he presses on.

 

“second: this shit is pretty illegal, so don’t be gossipin’ with your girlfriends about it.”

 

What the hell?  _Illegal_?

 

“And third of all…” 

 

Sans leans in closer to me, and I can feel my back pressed into the supply shelf behind me, his face only a few inches away from my own.  I slowly start to close my lips around his thumb, giving it a small suckle and watching his eyes light up with lust. 

 

“try to have fun.”

 

There’s a loud clacking noise close to my ear as Sans withdraws his finger from my mouth, and I feel the shelf start to slide against my back.  Sans steps back a pace, and I find myself following suit.  The shelf is slowly sliding to the right, like something you’d see in an old mystery cartoon, and behind it is…

 

Oh, my God.

 

Loud music blasts into my ears and I can feel bass notes flowing through the floor and reverberating into my body, not doing a thing to calm the burning between my thighs.

 

It’s the club where Sans said he first saw me.

 

 _Club G_.

 

And there are monsters _everywhere_.

 

I feel Sans grip my hand tightly, and he smoothly pulls me forward into the huge, dimly-lit warehouse-like building. 

 

I can’t believe I didn’t notice how close the laundromat was to the club.  But why didn’t we just go in through the front door?  Why did we have to go through the shady laundromat?

 

Oh.  I vaguely recall that Club Grill isn’t open on Mondays, something I had noted as odd during my first visits here. 

 

This must be why.

 

Throngs of monsters have crowded a relatively small area on what used to be the dancefloor.  They’re yelling and shouting words, unintelligible…  No, I can distinctly hear numbers.

 

“…hundred!”

 

“…forty… three sixty…!”

 

The monsters are waiving notepads and pens in their varying forms of appendages, shouting across the area not unlike what I’ve seen of the stock exchange in the capital.  Other monsters are waving monster gold and some are even flapping some human paper money around, all of them vying for the attention of the…

 

…bet takers?  These people are placing bets!  But… on what?

 

And then I see it.  As Sans weaves in and out of the throngs of people, gripping my hand tightly in his own bony phalanges, I can see just barely, out of the corner of my eye…

 

A snail.

 

A giant snail.

 

No, several of them.  All lined up in a row! 

 

“Sans!” I shout through the clatter around us, my voice drowning in the music and the shouting voices.  At first I don’t think he can hear me, but he stops for a moment and looks back at me with a concerned expression: ‘what’s up? you okay?’

 

“What’s going on?” I shout at him, trying to raise my voice above all the noise.

 

He smirks at me slyly.  “don’t tell me ya never heard of thundersnail?” he shouts back.

 

I pause for a moment, looking back at the snails.  I blink my eyes a couple of times to make sure that I’m not just going crazy.  The snails are, sure enough, sitting on what looks to be a straight track, similar to a drag racing track but with enough room for six, maybe seven snail participants. 

 

The word echoes in my head: _Thundersnail_.

 

I feel his fingers grip tighter into mine as he tugs me in the same direction he was going, making his way through the crowd of monsters as I stumble behind him.  I can’t see a single human, and I start to feel very out of place again.  Looking up, I can see the upstairs railing surrounding the dance-floor-made-snail-track.  Monsters are shoved up against the railing, waving their arms in boisterous cheers, some holding half-full drinks.  I suppose a race is going to start soon.

 

Sans pulls me in front of him suddenly, and I find myself sandwiched between him and the slightly sticky and very crowded bar.  The feel of other people’s bodies pressing into my shoulders on either side makes me feel uneasy, but I feel better knowing that Sans is right behind me.  He presses into my back as he starts to scan down the bar, catching the attention of a well-dressed purple fire… man… monster…(?) with a wide wave.

 

“grillbz! hey!” he shouts at them. 

 

‘Grillbz’ has just served a monster their drink, and I can see his shoulders visibly slump when he sees Sans.  This guy does _not_ seem happy to see him.

 

As Grillbz makes his way down the bar to face us, Sans shouts into my ear.  “that’s grillby, my buddy that owns the place.”  Well, for a ‘buddy’ he doesn’t seem too pleased to see the mustard-guzzling skeleton. 

 

Grillby crosses his arms over his vest as he stares down at the skeleton behind me, and I can feel his flames radiate warmth into the space surrounding him.  But then he looks at _me_ , and his expression seems to change as he recoils slightly in surprise.

 

“grillbz, this is x,” he introduces for me with my actual name, something I’m actually surprised about, his deep voice pounding in my ear.  “she’s my lucky charm for tonight,” he finishes, slightly nuzzling his cheek into mine.

 

I can feel the two monsters exchange tense glances before Grillby sighs heavily, extending his hand in a proposed handshake. 

 

“Grillby,” he speaks to me, in a surprisingly cool and deep voice that makes my heart flutter.

 

I would have gladly taken his hand into mine, but…  I mean I can _hear_ the flames crackling in his body, I don’t really want to get third degree burns tonight. 

 

Sans seems to notice my hesitation.  “he’s not gonna hurt ya sweetheart.  not unless you give him a reason.”

 

I bite my lip as I brace myself for his hand made of flames.  I can imagine the fire lapping at my skin, burning it away and leaving big red welts and—

 

“Oh,” I find myself murmuring in surprise.  My hand is clasped into his, and there’s nothing but that familiar tingle of magic that I recognize from my time spent with Sans.  If I’m being quite honest, it feels rather pleasant. 

 

“Nice to meet you, Grillby,” I shout at him over the noise.  “I’ve been to your club before, it’s really great!”

 

His lips made of fire seem to curl into a thin smile, and he nods curtly in appreciation.  “So when are you going to pay your goddamn tab, you boney son of a bitch?” Grillby deadpans as he turns his attention to Sans.

 

“when are you gonna stop being so _hotheaded_?” Sans quips in reply, not missing a beat, like this is all some sort of routine every time they see each other.  Grillby sighs halfheartedly and pulls a bottle of mustard out from under the bar and passes it to Sans. 

 

Ugh, this guy and his fucking _m u s t a r d_.

 

“You’d better get your bets in, bone bag.  Race is gonna start soon,” Grillby grumbles deeply, turning to walk away.

 

“love you, too, baby cakes!” Sans shouts back before turning to me.  “so you wanna place a bet or nah?” 

 

“I don’t have much cash on me…”

 

“that’s cool.  tell ya what,” he starts as he fumbles into his pocket and pulls out the slip of paper he was given at Muffet’s.  “since it’s your first time, why don’t you tell me which snail you want to win and i’ll put a bet on her and we’ll just see what happens.”

 

Sans holds the slip of paper out for me, and I take it and start to look.  It’s a list of names, all seemingly having nothing to do with each other.  Thundersnail is an odd sport.

 

…Metal Crusher…

 

…A Date With Your Mom…

 

…Like, Really Good Garbage…

 

“Uhhh,” is all I can muster as I glance up at Sans with the most ‘what the actual fuck’ look on my face.

 

He’s not really paying attention, instead counting out some bills from his wallet.

 

“Sans, I have no idea.”

 

“heh, just pick one, red.  doesn’t matter.”

 

Uuuuh, fuck.  “How about this one?  ‘I Just Wasn’t Ready For The Responsibility’?”

 

Sans looks up at me, two boney fingers grasping onto a bill.  He snorts, “ _really_?  _that_ one?”

 

“You said it doesn’t matter!”

 

“yeah, well—” _snerk_ ”—that one keeps _losing_.  burgerpants is in charge of the lineup, and he always makes sure that there are longshots like _that_ for pour souls to bet on and lose all their money.  don’t know why the owner keeps racin’ her, anyways.  she’s a dud.”

 

“I’ve made my decision,” I resolve, crossing my arms.  “You never know!”

 

Sans stares at me for a moment before scoffing again and rolling the eyelights in his sockets.  “yeah, sure, let’s see what happens.”

 

He starts to turn to walk away, but seems to catch himself.  “uh, you’ll be okay if you stay here for a sec, right?  i’ll be right back.  gotta see a monster ‘bout some snails.”

 

Sans winks and starts making his way through the throng of monsters towards the bet takers.

 

“Hey.  Human.”

 

A voice to my left startles me and I jump around hurriedly to face a monster.  He’s swaying to and fro slightly, probably very drunk.  “Uh.  Yes?”

 

“How much ‘s ‘e payin’ ya?” the monster slurs. 

 

“Excuse me?” I huff indignantly.  What’s with monsters thinking I’m a fucking prostitute?

 

“Can’t be tha’ much, knowin’ Sans.  Hey, I’ll double it if ya suck me off.”

 

I find my fists clenching together at my sides, my teeth gritting together in a way that would make my dentist cringe.  I scoff and turn away, facing towards the bar and trying to ignore him.

 

“C’mooon, lil’ human,” he coos, leaning in closer and brushing my hair behind my ear.  “I won’t be as rough as ‘e is.  Promise.”

 

I don’t say anything, hoping that maybe he’ll lose interest and give up. 

 

And then his body pushes into mine, the bulge in his pants pressing into my ass and he starts breathing down my neck. 

 

“Yeah, yer right.  I’ll prob’ly choke ya with how big it is.  Heh heh.  But whores like you love that kind of shit, right?  Like it when monsters rough ya up a bit?”  He’s grabbed a fistful of my hair and pulls on it hard, making me gasp from the sudden pain.

 

I start to panic.  I try to pull away from the monster, but he sweeps his arm around my waist and holds me flush against him.  I’m powerless in his grip. 

 

“Whoa, darlin’, don’t _leave_.  How ‘bout I triple whatever ‘e’s payin’ ya, huh?  But tha’s as high as I’ll go.  Y’ain’t worth that much after that smiley trash bag’s ‘ad ‘is way with ya, no matter how pretty yer little mouth is.”

 

He’s started grinding against my ass now, the lump in his pants almost painful from how forcefully he shoves it into my pelvis. 

 

“L-Let me go!” I struggle, trying to bring my arms away from his grip, but no, he has me, his sickly sweet breath is flooding my nostrils and oh my God it’s absolutely disgusting and—

 

“k n o c k  k n o c k.”

 

“Huh?  Who—“  And all at once I feel the monster’s body flung from behind me, hitting the floor with an incredibly strong force.  I whip around to see what’s happened, and Sans is standing over the pervert’s body.  His red eye is flaring in his socket, truly akin to the burning fires in hell, as he grits his teeth and clenches his left fist. 

 

“get fucking _dunked_ _on_ , you piece of _shit_.”  He’s starting to tremble with unbridled rage.

 

“Awe, c’mon, Sans,” the monster coughs up.  “Why ya gotta hog all the pretty on— _Oof_!”

 

Sans _screams_. 

 

He’s started kicking the monster on the ground, his foot stabbing him in the gut and then his face, and his face again, and then back in his gut. 

 

“you—stupid—mother— _fucker_ ,” Sans wheezes loudly between his violent kicks.  “stay—the _fuck_ —away—from— ** _my_** — ** _human!_** ” 

 

The monster underneath him is begging for Sans to stop, curling deeper into a ball on the cold cement floor, trying to protect himself from a barrage of solid blows to his torso.  I don’t think monsters bleed, but if they did, his faced would be covered in his own blood.  His teeth are kicked in and I think that half of his ribs have just _got_ to be broken by now.

 

He’s choked and sobbing and just can’t seem to get enough air, gasping and pleading through his writhing.  Did he puncture a lung with a broken rib?  Sans grinds his shoe into the monster’s face, shouting at him at how worthless and disgusting he is, and how Sans is doing him a favor. 

 

A crowd has gathered to watch as Sans mercilessly beats on the monster, spouting insults and profanities left and right.

 

Everyone around us is suffering from bystander syndrome, too afraid to stop him.

 

Sans is going to kill him. 

 

I decide to let him. 

 

“ _Sans_!” comes a crackling voice behind us, and I realize it’s Grillby.  Sans freezes mid kick, his fists balled as he balances himself and looks back up to the bar. 

 

“This is your final _fucking_ warning!” he finishes, his voice much louder than I ever imagined it to be.  “So help me, if you dust another monster in my establishment, I swear to _God_ I’ll—“

 

“yeah, yeah, _cool it_ ,” he huffs, completely winded.  Sans catches a glance at me and relaxes somewhat reluctantly, then waves his hand at Grillby dismissively.  Grillby goes back to polishing a Collins glass with a rag, but keeps an eye on Sans for good measure.

 

“as for _you_ ,” he grumbles back to the monster at his feet, just barely clinging on to his life by a thread, “learn your fucking _place_ , or else i’ll finish what i started.”  And he takes a moment to pool some glowing red saliva in his mouth and spit it out right onto the monster’s face.  This monster was beaten within an inch of his worthless life, and Sans has the audacity to spit on him like the bag of dirt he is.  Nice.

 

Sans looks over to me and steps over the barely breathing monster in front of him.  He grabs my arm loosely and pulls me closer to him, sweeping his arms around me in a warm embrace.  He’s slightly sweaty and his breath is still ragged, and I can feel him still trembling.  His voice is unsteady as he tries to ask me a million questions at once.

 

“are you okay, red?  are you—“

 

“I’m fine, Sans.”

 

“—hurt?   did he touch you?  i shouldn’t—“

 

“Sans, I’m fine.”

 

“—have left, i’m sorry, i’m sorry—“

 

“Sans, I—“

 

“—you had to see that, i should have—“

 

And I kiss him.

 

Wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him in closer to me, trying to shove my tongue so far into his mouth that he chokes on it.

 

Why am I kissing him? 

 

Mostly just to shut him up.

 

But…  I just almost witnessed him beat a monster to death!  I shouldn’t be this turned on.

 

_But I am._

 

_Please just shut the fuck up and t o u c h m e._

 

Sans doesn’t know what to do at first, and he just stands there completely dumbfounded for a moment.  And then he melts, closing his eyes and kissing me back, fighting my tongue back into my own mouth with his own weird-ass magic red tongue, but I don’t really care.

 

The world has stopped, and I’m on a whole other plane of existence as we just kiss for what seems like hours in my special realm. 

 

And he pulls away, looking down at me with pure wonder in his eyes.  His breathing has calmed down considerably, and I have to wonder if the kiss helped him.  Sans clears his throat somehow despite lacking an esophagus, and pulls away from me.

 

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles, just over a whisper.

 

“It’s okay,” is all I can really think to say. 

 

He blushes and rubs arm with his left hand, avoiding eye contact.

 

“race is gonna start soon.  let’s go cheer your snail on.”

 

* * *

 

I Just Wasn’t Ready For The Responsibility truly lived up to her name.  No matter how hard I cheered that little pink snail on, she came in second to last place.  Sans told me I was cheering too much, but is there really such a thing?

 

Apparently this event happens twice a month.  Grillby keeps his club closed on Monday’s just for the event, and he gets three percent of all the winnings, tax-free.  Started out in the capital, but the authorities were starting to grow suspicious, which is why Grillby opened up another club in XYZ.

 

Another couple of races have come and gone, but I begged Sans to let me bet in every race with my darling snail I Just Wasn’t Ready For The Responsibility.  I believed in her. 

 

Sans thought it was hilarious to keep trying to win off of her: “you know the definition of insanity, right?  tryin’ the same thing over and over again, expectin’ a different result?  that’s you.”

 

Despite how much money he’s losing, Sans seems to be having a lot fun.  He cheers just as hard as I do, waving his fist and making vaguely threatening demands for the snail to win.  I don’t know why he doesn’t bet on another snail.  He said he doesn’t even want his money, right?  Well, I guess why not give it all to the illegal Thundersnail racing ring his buddy Grillby runs?

 

Eventually the racing came to a close, and I actually got to meet the small pink snail that Sans had lost so much money on.  Her owner is a ghost monster who was very shy and didn’t seem to like to talk very much, but they did appreciate the encouragement Sans and I gave to their little girl.  They mentioned that she loves to race more than anything, but she tends to get overwhelmed by the pressure sometimes.

 

She seemed to like me well enough, and ate some snail kibble out of my hand. 

 

Sans, on the other hand…

 

“slimy little fuckers,” he explains.  I try to convince him otherwise, giving him my prettiest please and giving him a handful of the kibble.  Sans curses under his breath at how cute I am and wears this nervous smile as he inches closer to the snail, almost like… he’s afraid of it.  The snail spends a good couple of seconds sniffing at his sweaty hand before finally nipping some kibble with its little snail lips. 

 

Sans practically shrieks, but he’s frozen in place. 

 

“ _holy_ —!  oh god, it’s so fucking slimy!  augh!  get it off of me, red!  get it— please make it fucking _stop_!  _fuck_!  _please_!  quit fuckin’ _laughing_ and get this thing _away_ from me, i-i’m serious!  its mouth is— auuughhh!”

 

He looks like he’s close to tears, and I double over laughing at the bastard.

 

The snail happily munches away out of his hand.

 

After the snails were done thundering and their owners packed up and left, the club turned into a relatively quiet lounge.  There was even a monster playing some smooth jazz on a piano where the racetrack was.  Sans and I grabbed a booth together and ordered some drinks and started to talk about the night, laughing and bickering like old friends. 

 

“Still can’t believe you beat that guy up,” I muse, sipping into another glass of monster wine.  I mean, this crap is pretty good.

 

“sorry…  i guess i just got carried away.” He pauses. "nah, you know what?  no.  i'm not sorry. fucker _deserved_ it."

 

And he slams another shot down his throat.

 

“Don’t think I’ve ever had someone fight another dude for me.  Does this mean that you’re the jealous type?”

 

“oh _hell_ yeah.  no one touches my human, ‘cept me,” he jeers as he jabs his thumb into his sternum.

 

I snicker.  “That’s pretty blunt.” 

 

And then the wine makes me say something silly. 

 

“What about me?  Am _I_ allowed to touch myself?”  I probably raised my eyebrows a couple of times like a stupid cartoon character.

 

Sans snorts, maybe a bit too melodramatically considering the copious amounts of monster liquor he’s thrown down his gullet.  Honestly, this is the first time I’ve seen him drink something besides mustard, and he’s going fucking ham tonight.

 

"only if i'm around to watch," he coos playfully.

 

"That can be arranged," I smile devilishly, nudging his leg with my foot under the table.  He smiles drunkenly at me, licking his teeth before opening his mouth to say something.

 

"HEY. BONE BAG."

 

Sans and I both whip our heads around to the source of the boisterous voice that echoes through the club.

 

A huge monster is walking towards us, pure malice in his eyes and his fists clenched tight at his sides.  He's flanked by two more monsters, both equally big as the first.

 

The piano has stopped playing.

 

Sans, though he's all porcelain white bone, visibly blanches at the sight of the monsters approaching us.  "shit," he mutters under his breath.

 

"Sans," I gulp. "Who are they?"

 

"YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GET AWAY WITH WAILING ON MY COUSIN LIKE THAT?"

 

Oh.

 

Oh _fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUCKING HELL A CLIFFHANGER???
> 
> What if I never updated again, huh? Wouldn't that be awful?
> 
> But nah. I've got it all planned out. Smut is going to happen in the next chapter I p r o m i s e.
> 
> Just wanted to say thanks to everyone that views my stupid self indulgent fanfic! Just hit 4000 views last night, and I'm so happy. 
> 
> If you like this, go check out my [Blueberry/Reader collection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8322331/chapters/19059940) I said I'd start writing! I haven't gotten to any good parts yet, but Y'ALL BETTER SMASH THAT S U B S C R I B E BUTTON IF U WANT MOAR
> 
> Bother me on [tumblr](http://whoawicked.tumblr.com)?


	18. Promises

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feely smut at the end. ~~I don't know.~~
> 
> Nearly 5000 words, so this makes this my longest chapter to date.
> 
> Other titles for this chapter: Broken//Crazy//Nightmare

"YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GET AWAY WITH WAILING ON MY COUSIN LIKE THAT?"

 

Oh.

 

Oh _fuck_.

 

Sans slides out of the booth somewhat clumsily, standing in front of me as if he's trying to hide me.  He's very drunk, and very sweaty.

 

"h-hey, g-guys...  l-let’s just calm d-down for a sec, and m-maybe talk this out, huh?”  He’s got his hands out in front of him in a cautioning motion as he stutters over his words.

 

“LIKE HELL WE WILL, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” the monster shouts.  “YOU’RE GONNA FUCKING _PAY_ FOR WHAT YOU DID TO HIM!”

 

“Yeah, and then we’re gonna fuck your little _whore_ right in your dust,” one of his comrades adds on.  “She’ll probably get off on that, won’t ya darlin’?”

 

“For the _last goddamn time_ ,” I shout, weaseling my way out from the booth and pushing past the drunk skeleton in front of me.  “I’m _not_ a _fucking_ _prostitute_!”

 

What am I saying?  Why am I antagonizing them?

 

The monster wine.  All night it’s been making me feel so… so… _impassioned_ , I guess would be the right word. 

 

Sans grips my wrist and harshly whispers at me, “red, chill the fuck out.”

 

Coarse chuckles erupt from the trio.

 

“Oh, would you prefer to be called an _ethcort_ , then?” quips the third with a heavy lisp, taking a step forward.  “Fucking privileged whoreth, nowadayth.  A whore ith a fucking _whore_ , no matter what kind of fanthy _titleth_ they have.” 

 

Sans takes a deep breath, seeming to steady his drunk mind with a cool, toothy grin on his face.  “well, ya got me!” he admits somewhat loudly, shrugging loosely.  “and here i was, thinkin’ i could get away with it!  with no consequences whatsoev—“

 

Sans loses his words and his eye sockets widen before pointing a boney finger in front of him.  “ _what the hell is that_?”

 

The monsters whip their heads around to look at what he’s pointing to.

 

“ _run_!” Sans screams at me, and I swear I can see a grin on his face.  And then before I can even comprehend what he’s just said, he takes off running with my wrist gripped in his hand.

 

”W-What the hell, Sans?” I shout, his phalanges digging into my wrist as he pulls me roughly behind him.

 

“shut up and fucking run!” he hisses back at me, maybe with a bit of a chuckle, and yup, there’s a smile on his face.

 

I hear a chorus of angry yells and much louder subsequent, “GET THE FUCK BACK HERE!”

 

Sans heads straight for the kitchen, passing Grillby at the bar as he shoves through the double doors with his shoulder.  “put it on my tab!” Sans shouts behind him, and I catch Grillby grumble something unintelligible as he wipes away at the bar counter.  

 

The kitchen is a pristine white with all stainless steel appliances, and littered with a plethora of monsters cleaning up from the night’s rather large hors d’œurves service.  Sounds of water spraying dishes and a mop squelching over the tile floor fill my ears as Sans weaves in and out of the rather large kitchen, dodging chefs and other employees between prep tables quite skillfully with me in tow.

 

“’scuse us, comin’ through, whoa!”

 

“Sorry, o-oh, we’re sorry!” is all I can manage to say, smiling awkwardly as the monsters glare at us scornfully.

 

I take a glance behind me and I can see the three monsters following us, but running into and shoving the same monsters that Sans keeps dodging. 

 

“HEY WATCH IT, FREAK!”

 

“Outta the fuckin’ way, _moron_!”

 

“Watch where yer fuckin’ goin’!”

 

Suddenly we burst out the back door and into the alley behind the club, startling some monsters in white chef uniforms, crouched against the brick building and holding cigarettes between their fingers on their union-regulated break.  The cold air hits me like a wet blanket, and I find that my breath is taken away from me for a moment.

 

Sans looks left and right hurriedly, sweat beading on his skull despite the cold weather as he tries to figure out which way to go next.

 

“Sans, what the fuck are we gonna do?” I shout at him after I finally find my breath, but he just tugs me away to the left and starts running at full speed, my own legs struggling to keep up.  I honestly had no idea he could run this fast.

 

I hear the door slam open one more time behind us.  “JUST WAIT ‘TIL WE GET OURS HANDS ON YA,” comes the monster’s voice, and I can feel a lump in my throat as I start to realize that we are in a shit ton of trouble.

 

“i-i’ll figure somethin’ out,” Sans pants, but his words don’t really assure me much. 

 

We’re practically running for our lives down this alley, crunching noises reverberating off the buildings as our shoes dig into the snow repeatedly.  My lungs are burning in my chest as they suck in cold winter air repeatedly, and my heart is beating into my throat, trying its damned hardest to do its job.

 

“why do i”— _huff_ —“have such shitty”— _huff huff_ —“self-control?” Sans grunts through his panting, but mostly to himself.  I can imagine with the way his own chest is heaving that he’s getting a workout too, but he doesn’t even have lungs so I’m pretty skeptical. 

 

Sans is cutting and ducking into alley after alley, jerking me this way and that.  At certain times I feel like he’s going to dislocate my shoulder with how hard he pulls my arm behind him, but I’m glad he’s steering me, to be honest.  As we’re running, I try to keep looking behind me to see that the monsters are keeping up in time, not falling back an inch. 

 

“You can fuckin’ run all ya want sweetheart, but ya can’t hide,” calls the second crony from behind us.

 

“Can’t you use your magic or something?” I huff at Sans between my gasps for breath.

 

Sans doesn’t say anything, instead rounding a corner and throwing some trashcans behind us with a loud clatter, hoping to slow the other monsters down.

 

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping me going at this point, pumping through my veins, responding to the fear of my impending doom.  Every thought in my brain is just screaming repeatedly, “ _KEEP FUCKING RUNNING_.”

 

But God, I’m out of fucking shape. 

 

And then, just as Sans rounds another corner, we see a ten-foot-tall chain-link fence in the middle of the alley, cutting us off.  Sans runs up to it regardless, clutching his phalanges in the links with a loud echoing rattle.  He tilts his head up to judge how tall it is, then glances over to me.

 

“you think you can jump it?”

 

“Wha— Fucking _no_!  Do I _look_ like I can jump a fucking fence?” I scream back at him, motioning down to my short-ass dress and ripped tights.

 

“Well, well,” comes a cool voice from behind us.  “Caught like little mice in a trap.”

 

And we are.

 

Sans grips my hand into his again, squeezing it tight as he whips around to face them.  Is it supposed to be comforting?

 

The three monsters slowly walk up to corner us next to the fence, panting white puffs of steam in front of their faces with each breath.  The subtle crunch of snow beneath shoes has never sounded so menacing to me.

 

The loud one speaks next, pointing at Sans with a long finger.  “YER GONNA WISH YOU’D NEVER BEEN BORN, BONE BAG.”

 

“wow…  guess you could say that we’re totally _boned_ ,” he chuckles nervously, maybe even a bit… sarcastically? 

 

The monsters stop in their tracks, completely caught off guard at his lame skeleton pun.  All three of them look at each other before doubling over in roaring laughter, one of them even slaps his knee.

 

“What a fuckin’ _comedian_!” one of them chuckles crudely with his eyes closed.

 

Sans beams at their reaction to his joke, looking over at me for my own approval with his toothy grin. 

 

“Sans, what the actual fuck?”

 

“what can i say?” he shrugs.  “i just know how to tickle their _funny bone_ ,” he sneers, leaning over to me casually.

 

“Use your magic!” I whisper at him fretfully, slightly nudging his arm with my elbow.  Why _hasn’t_ Sans used his magic?  Like that thing he does where he throws me around?  What gives?

 

“don’t wanna.  guess i just don’t have the _guts_.”

 

“What do you _mean_ you don’t wanna?”  I’m practically incredulous at this point.  “Sans, quit making jokes!  They’re gonna—“

 

He just keeps chuckling, pressing his palm over his shit-eating grin to try to hide how fucking hilarious he thinks he is.

 

“Oh my God.  It’s because you’re _drunk_ , isn’t it?”

 

“wh-what?  nah, i just have a great sense of _humerus_.”

 

And the monsters renew their chortles in earnest, laughing at Sans’s stupid puns.  Sans is acting like he’s literally on a stage, dishing out puns like his paycheck depends on it.

 

He’s very obviously drunk.  Maybe he _can’t_ use his magic?  Like whiskey dick in humans: when men have too much to drink, they can’t get their dicks up.  Is monster magic the same way?  If he is, then…

 

…Fuck.  He’s useless.

 

“YER A REALLY FUNNY GUY, I’LL ADMIT THAT.  PRETTY BALLSY, TOO.  IT’S TOO BAD WE GOTTA DUST YA, PAL.  HEY, GIVE US ANOTHER!”

 

“okay, okay,” Sans huffs after coming down from his chuckling fit.  “here’s a good one: whaddya call—“

 

“Goddamnit, just _stop_ already!” I shout impatiently, standing in front of Sans.  My fists are clenched at my sides, but whether it’s from frustration or fear or just being cold, I don’t really know.  My brain is swimming in a cocktail of assorted hormones, and it’s really hard to think straight.

 

All three of them stop laughing at the same time, turning their attention to me. 

 

“Tch.  Or _what_?  Ya gonna punch me or something, darlin’?”

 

This coming from the monster that likes to talk about how much of a whore I am as he eyeballs my fists at my sides.

 

“M-Maybe!”

 

I like to think that my stutter is from the cold, but deep down I know it’s from the fear.  I can’t fight worth shit, but maybe I can fake it ‘til I make it. 

 

“I-If Sans won’t fight back, th-then I will!”

 

My answer brings another round of laughter, and the loud one pipes up first, like he’s cooing at a baby.  “LIKE THAT?  OH, HONEY, YER GONNA BREAK YER THUMB LIKE THAT.”

 

I look down at my fist, wondering what’s wrong. 

 

Seeming to notice my puzzled expression, the third one with the lisp shows me his own balled up fist.  “Try taking your thumb out of your fitht, firtht of all,” he chortles sarcastically.  “Put it here—“  He points to his knuckles, moving his thumb to cross it.  “Like thith.”

 

I mimic his own fist, feeling the hot shame wash over my face.

 

“AWE, SHE’S NEVER PUNCHED ANYBUDDY B’FORE!  AIN’T THAT _CUTE_?” the loud one asks as he nudges the perverted one with his elbow.

 

I grit my teeth in absolute fury, suddenly feeling the urge to put my correctly formed fist to good use.  Sans seems to sense my anger and grabs my wrist again, much firmer than before. 

 

“red, _don’t_ ,” he hisses as he gives me a firm squeeze, his eyes desperate.

 

Don’t _what_?  Don’t try to save him from these punks?  It doesn’t hurt to fucking try!  What else am I supposed to do?  Just let them kill him and… and then… they’ll probably… I’ll be… 

 

_No._

 

“HERE, I’LL BE YOUR _FIRST_ , IF YA WANT,” the loud one coos playfully, pointing at his cheek and crouching down slightly to bring himself to my level.  “DON’T HOLD BACK, THOUGH; I LIKE IT _ROUGH_.”

 

He and his friends are both chuckling like hyenas, expecting me to just shy away. 

 

But you know what?  I’ll take him up on his fucking offer.

 

So much for faking it.

 

With a firm yank, my arm flies out of Sans’s grip _—“wait!”—_ and I start running towards the loud monster, gripping my fist tightly.  Adrenaline has practically replaced my blood at this point, my fight or flight response finally choosing something that might actually get us out of this bloody mess. 

 

I know I probably won’t do much damage, but I just have to _try_.  I’ve got so much _anger_ , so much _rage_ , so much _passion_ that I need to let out, like a dam bursting during a storm.

 

The monsters hardly even register that I’ve even moved by the time I wind my fist back, getting ready to deliver the blow, giving him every ounce of strength I have in my body.  My legs stance themselves firmly in the wet snow, poised to swiftly transfer the energy to my fist, and I land the punch square into his face.

 

**_CRRRK._ **

****

…

 

He hits the ground like a sack of potatoes, screaming.

 

I fall to my knees beside him, screaming.

 

Clutching my wrist in my other hand. 

 

Pain.

 

Searing, white-hot _pain._

 

Am I dying?

 

Voices.

 

“Fucking hell!”

 

“AAAAUUUUUGH!”

 

“She broke his fucking nose!”

 

“ _red_!”

 

“Yer in for it now, you little _bitch_!”

 

Through my hazy vision brought on by the hot tears pooling down my face, I can vaguely see what’s happening.  The loud monster has crumpled down next to me, his huge hands gripping his face in painful agony.

 

The perverted monster has raised his hand back, poised to strike at me while I’m down on my knees while the lispy monster kneels down to check on his fallen buddy.

 

Before he can land his hit, however, my chest is gripped by that familiar force, and suddenly I’m flung through the snow into a pile of trash bags near a dumpster.  The agitation sends another burning sliver of pain into my hand, causing me to cry out.

 

Sans is livid.

 

He stands upright, his left hand thrown out in front of him as it radiates with red magic.  His left eye is flaring in his skull, burning with pure hatred and revulsion as he stares the gang of monsters down.  I like to think that if I were to ever stare at that eye for too long, I might get turned to stone.

 

Through gritted teeth, Sans speaks in a voice so low, so deep and filled with animosity that I become frightened for my own life, completely ignoring the pain in my hand.  His mouth twitches halfway through his sentence.

 

“wow, and we were having such a  **_g r e a t   t i m e   t o g e t h e r_**.”

 

I watch in complete disbelief as—

 

No, I have to be imagining things.  This can’t be happening.  

 

I try to blink away the salty tears and focus on the pain in my hand, _anything_ to convince myself that what I’m seeing isn’t real and this is all just a bad dream.

 

But my hand still hurts like hell, and my eyes are seeing just fine.

 

Behind Sans are three floating animal skulls, each of their left eyes glowing the same blood crimson as Sans’s.  To be honest, these animals are very reminiscent of the Gaster emblem.

 

 _Wicked_.

 

The two monsters actually able to battle ready their own magical attacks, and seem to practically growl at Sans.

 

“tch.  rot in hell.”

 

Sans flicks his index finger forward.

 

The skulls open their maws all at once, the mandible actually separating and splaying out to the sides as huge beams of red-hot energy flow from their non-existent throats. 

 

Their blasts are released with enough energy that I feel an actual shockwave, and I watch in pure disbelief as Sans stands resolute in the snow with his coat fluttering violently in front of him.

 

It’s a dead hit.

 

A dog barks in the distance.

 

The two monsters are thrown to the snowy ground from their pain, clutching at their bodies in agony along with their third pal.

 

“M-My HP...  It won’t stop—“

 

“Wh-Who the hell are you?!”

 

Sans slowly walks up to them, his footsteps crunching into the wet snow beneath him. 

 

He stops, glaring down at the trembling monsters before him with unreserved malice.

 

“i’m your worst nightmare.”

 

Every word is pronounced so clearly, enunciated so delicately.  It’s terrifying.

 

The gang of monsters crouches in the snow, groaning in pain as they stare up at him in blatant horror.

 

“what’re you fucks waitin’ for?  an invitation?  _scram_.”

 

The monsters waste no time in scrambling to their feet, the other two helping the loud monster upright as they babble incoherently, things sounding like sorries and “we won’t bother you again, promise” and “MY COUSIN IS AN ASSHOLE ANYWAYS” and even _more_ sorries.

 

As they round the corner and out of our line of sight, probably making their way to the university monster hospital, Sans drops his tough guy façade.

 

He runs towards me, waving his hand toward the skull cannon _things_ and they disappear in a flash of light.  He slides through the snow on his knees as he approaches me, cupping my face in his boney hands and looking me over, rubbing his thumb over the frozen trail of tears that stripe my cheeks.

 

His voice is shaking.

 

“r-red, are you—  what happened?”

 

I feel a lump in my throat form when I try to answer him, but I can’t.  I feel like if I tried to use my voice box, all that would come out would be a faint wheeze.

 

Instead, I just feebly raise my hand and force back a choked sob.

 

“y-your hand?” he weakly stammers as he gently touches it, but recoils when I gasp in pain. 

 

“…red, it’s broken.  y-you broke…  your…”  His eyes widen, but his eyelights go out completely. 

 

And then I look down at my hand for the first time, seeing the swelling and the bruising, hues of red and purple swirling together under my pinkie finger. 

 

My bottom lip starts quivering as I feel the water works starting up again, tears pooling in my hot eyes as I stare at his worried face.  He’s just so worried, so concerned for my well-being. 

 

And it’s at this exact moment, looking into his eye sockets behind my steaming tears, I know for sure that Sans loves me.

 

Sans loves me more than anything in the entire world.

 

But he doesn’t know what to say. 

 

“no, no, it’ll be okay, red, i-i…  damn it...  tonight was supposed to be fun, and now you’ve…  i let you…”

 

He sweeps his arms around me, surrounding me in his weird skeletal warmth, but careful not to agitate my hand.  He presses my face into his chest, and I just start crying. 

 

Crying and crying, and blubbering and sniveling, and oh, God, it’s the ugly kind.  I just can’t stop myself.

 

I feel as Sans brushes through my hair with his fingers as he coos at me, trying to get me to settle down and stop shuddering with aching breaths. 

 

“this is why i hate making promises,” he sighs, pressing a warm skeleton kiss to my forehead.

 

I try to will myself to stop crying, stop losing myself like this, to take back control.  My sobs become fewer and farther between after a few moments, and my hot tears streaming down my face start to freeze again in the November air. 

 

I pull away from Sans, my black makeup smeared all over his pristine white shirt, and a little bit of drool making a wet spot where my mouth was. 

 

Sans looks at me as though his own heart has been broken in two, almost as if he’s on the verge of tears himself.

 

I open my mouth, trying to find the words to comfort him.  What do I say?

 

“’t’s f-f-f-fuck-king-g-g c-c-cold.”  The first vowel snagged deep in my throat, but the rest comes out pretty much okay.

 

Sans blinks a couple of times, trying to register what I’ve just said, and then smiles anxiously.

 

“yeah,” he breathes somewhat contentedly, and then he pushes a stray curl behind my ear.  “it’s pretty fucking cold.  let’s get you patched up, huh?”

 

Sans gently moves my arms to wrap around his neck, being careful not to disturb my broken hand, and lifts me up and out of the trash by my thighs.  He slowly releases my legs when he’s upright, and my feet finding solid ground under the snow, but I keep my arms wrapped around him. 

 

I’m looking at him, and I don’t know what I’m doing, I—I just have to…

 

I kiss him. 

 

Pressing my crusty lips to his skeleton mouth and catching him completely off guard for the second time tonight, I kiss him deeply.  I don’t love him, but I know he loves me.  And I appreciate that.

 

Sans closes his eyes and enjoys the kiss, wrapping me in his warm embrace again.  The familiar smell of mustard and cigarettes and skeleton sweat envelopes me once more, and I can feel my adrenaline pumping up again.  So many emotions are welling up, and they’re all screaming the same thing deep in my mind.

 

Sans.

 

Sans.

 

 _Sans_.

 

 ** _Sans_**.

 

_I need him._

My kiss slowly starts to turn hungry as I press my tongue against his sharp teeth, and an image of my tongue bleeding floats through my mind.

 

What is wrong with me?

 

What am I—

 

“whoa, what are you—“  Sans tries to pull himself away when he feels what I’m doing, but I use my wrists to pulls his neck down and kiss him even more.

 

“red, _mmph_ , no, you’re—“

 

“Sans,” I breath as I pull away from him, a long tendril of spit connecting our mouths.  “Show me how much you love me.”

 

What did I just say?

 

Sans chokes on the cold winter air, taken completely by surprise.

 

But then he crushes his mouth to mine, squeezing me tightly in his arms as his tongue searches out for mine past my lips, our hot breath combining to form hot puffs of vapor between our faces.

 

I yelp in wordless surprise when I feel Sans press his hands down to my ass, dipping down slightly to warn me to jump as he picks me up, and I do and wrap my legs around his torso weakly.  Sans carries me a couple of paces before finally smashing me into the brick wall beside the dumpster, his mouth never leaving mine for a single second. 

 

Sans adjusts his hands to support my thighs as he presses the rest of my weight into the building.  He kisses me hard, kisses me deeply like he never wants to stop, not for food or drink or sleep or anything else in this miserable world. 

 

I raise my broken hand above his shoulder, vaguely remembering to keep broken limbs elevated above my heart, but the rest of my mind gets clouded with lust.  I start to feel his magic press into my crotch through the thin fabric of my tights, and I can’t help but let out small keens at the friction. 

 

Sans hurriedly tries to slip his track pants down with one hand, using the other to keep me propped up, but it’s really awkward and he’s not really succeeding.  I lend him my good hand and push them down until I finally feel his cock press into my thigh, practically throbbing and twitching from his magic.  Sans then uses his phalanges to rip a gaping hole into my tights, not bothering to try to slide them down at all, and pulling my panties to the side and then plunging deep within me all at once.

 

We both gasp at the new sensation, and I feel my walls tighten into a vice grip around his cock as it fills me up completely.  I bite my lip as he presses his face into my shoulder, pausing to enjoy the feeling of being one, of being _together_. 

 

Soon he starts kissing my collarbone through the mesh fabric of my dress, licking it softly and lightly scraping his teeth against it, but he doesn’t move into me.

 

I smoothly try to gyrate my hips to encourage him, but he presses me into the wall even further to tell me to stop.

 

“i love you,” he whispers after a beat, his voice trembling in apprehension?  Anxiety?  Lust?

 

And then he starts fucking me.

 

Slowly, at first, just to get used to the feeling of my pussy squeezing around his magic, our breathing coming in labored pants.  Soon he picks up the pace, going faster and with a steady rhythm: something relaxed, but effective.

 

“you’re so fucking crazy, and i’m crazy about you, x,” he pants, using my real name instead of my nickname.

 

His cock gets shoved deeper and deeper into my cunt with each thrust, and I can feel his boney phalanges gripping into my thighs tightly.

 

“you—you broke that guy’s nose, and you even broke your hand, w-why did you do that?  and— _mmf, ahh_ —and now we’re—god, that’s just so fucking— _ahn_ —crazy—“

 

“Sans,” I moan into his shoulder.  “Sans, please, _aahn_ , I need you, I…”

 

His rutting against me is pushing me up and down the brick wall, my coat snagging from the friction of the porous bricks, and I’m probably ruining it, but I really don’t care, just please, take care of me, Sans, make me feel good, please…

 

“you’re so— _nnghh_ —so _brave_ , and beautiful and i— _fuuuck_ —i can’t believe you want to do this… with me,” he grumbles through quiet noises of pleasure.

 

My hand is throbbing from the pain, but I don’t care. 

 

I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care.

 

My brain is completely overwhelmed by the veritable concoction of neurotransmitters swirling around up there: the adrenaline from earlier, the pleasure he’s giving me, thrusting his cock in and out of my needy cunt, filling me up with every inch he has to give me, and the pain from my hand, setting off white hot streaks down my arm with every movement.

 

Which is which?  I don’t fucking know.

 

No thoughts, just feeling.

 

His tip is pressing into the entrance of my cervix, every thrust feeling better than the last.  His own needy moans matching mine, his breathing coming in quick and short gasps.

 

One particularly rough thrust causes my bad hand to try to grip onto his jacket, and I immediately cry out in excruciating agony.

 

Sans stops with his dick is still buried inside me.  “o-oh, no, are you—fuck, we shouldn’t be—“ 

 

I cut him off with another deep kiss, letting my wet tongue swirl around his own magical red tongue.  He melts into the kiss, seeming to forget everything he just said or did.  Maybe my kisses are my own form of magic.  He tastes like mustard and cigarettes, but there’s something else, something sweeter that I can’t quite place.  Is it the liquor?

 

“P-Please, k-keep… keep going,” I tell Sans after we finally part, trying to ignore the pain starting to win against the pleasure, and he obliges my demand.  He ruts into me faster, adjusting his grip again to make sure I don’t fall, and I doubt I will while I’m with him.  His thrusts come in rapid succession now, over and over and over again, and I feel my legs closing in to squeeze him in tighter, yes, _please_ , go deeper, harder, fill me up…  Drown the pain, shower me in pleasure.

 

The burning in my legs is finally getting satisfied, something that’s been around for hours now, and mixed with the adrenaline still within my blood system, I just can’t think of anything besides my own orgasm.  It’s welling up, brimming to the surface, and I can feel it, just a bit more, please…

 

“r-red, i…  i’m getting…” 

 

“No, please, just a little more, Sans, please,” I beg of him, desperate for my release at this point.  I can vaguely see him nod amongst his rapid thrusts, but he actually starts pumping in even faster.  His cock drags along my vaginal walls, sending waves of pleasure through my body, pooling at my abdomen, making me feel so good, so good, _so good, so good_ …

 

“i-i love you!” he hoarsely screams through his ragged breathing, not slowing down at all as he rams inside me. 

 

What do I say to that?

 

I decide to say nothing, and instead opt to kiss him.  He kisses back desperately, relishing in his own pleasure and trying to convey his feelings for me.  Instead of worrying about him, I just focus on the pleasure, his tongue jammed down my throat, my orgasm begging to be released within me, just a little bit more, yes, yes, right there, yes, Sans, Sans, _Sans_ …!

 

My orgasm finally sweeps through me, my head going numb from the splintering pleasure washing over me.  Sans grunts incoherently as my vaginal muscles tense around his cock, permitting himself to lose control and, with one final push inside me, allowing his magic to flow deep within me.   

 

We came together.

 

I can feel his cock twitch and jump as the last jolts of pleasure fall over him, and I instinctively squeeze my cunt around him to milk it dry. 

 

We stay in that position against the wall, Sans’s cock thrust deep inside me as he supports me by my thighs and my hands curled around his neck, our foreheads pressed together, and I can feel his sweat coating his skull.  For what seems like a long time, we lie still, waiting for our breathing to catch up to us. 

 

Or maybe we’re just waiting for each other to say something, _anything_ about what just happened.

 

My hand starts to throb as my endorphin levels calm down.

 

I finally say something, really just the first thing that came to mind.

 

“My hand is broken.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wall fucking is hot, amirite?  
> Pain is hot too, _amirite?_
> 
> Personal headcanon alert: Fell Sans can't teleport other people, or at least not without consequence. I feel like it's just way overused in most fics, and in my opinion it makes him too Gary Sue. And, I mean, like, _this_ magical slop couldn't have happened. _Adventure._ *jazz hands*
> 
> You: Sans, do your teleport thing!!!  
> sans: lol u wild, wyd tho?
> 
> The 'L' word, and so soon? Ouch. Shit's getting complicated.
> 
> Chase scenes are hard to write.
> 
> As always, comments are appreciated! Got questions? Critique? General love for the fic? I always love reading them! Screw accurate comment count, I really don't care. 
> 
> Thank you for your support, guys! Come check out my shitposts on [tumblr](http://whoawicked.tumblr.com).


	19. Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, fuck. Here, take 6000 words. Sorry for the wait.

I didn’t see Sans again for two months after that night. 

 

Sans had escorted me to the hospital to make sure I got there safe, but didn’t say a single damned word to me on the cab ride there.  Smoked like a chimney, though, and I caught him staring at my broken hand on more than one occasion. 

 

I had tried to ask him what kind of magic those floating skull cannons were, but he wouldn’t answer me.  His expression was strained, to say the least, and maybe somewhat guild-ridden.  His skull was coated in sweat, more so than usual.  I imagine he had plenty of things to say to me...  So why didn’t he say anything? 

 

As soon as I walked up to the front desk of the emergency room and turned around, he was gone. 

 

He didn’t even say goodbye.

 

The doctor ended up telling me that I had something called a ‘boxer’s fracture,’ which happens when you completely fuck up a punch with a lot of force.  I had no idea I was even that strong, to be honest.  I asked for a copy of my x-ray so I could show Sans the broken bone in my hand, maybe thinking it would be like some kind of weird skeleton hand porn for him or something.  I thought he would have liked it.

 

When I got home, the stuff I had left at the boutique was already sitting on my kitchen counter.  I was too exhausted to even care that someone (probably Sans) had broken into my apartment, and I just popped another pain pill and flopped onto my bed to sleep for way too long.

 

The next morning came around, and my phone already had five missed calls and twenty-seven text messages from Serena alone.  Bless that girl for caring so much, but god _damn_.  Apparently word travelled pretty fast around the hospital.

 

Needless to say, I was given another day off from work to recover from my night. 

 

Sans hadn’t sent me anything by way of texts, and I would be lying if I had said I wasn’t a bit disappointed.  I sent him a quick message with a silly pun, trying to convey that there were no hard feelings about last night.  I mean, I had fun, at least.

 

I called Serena to tell her that I was (relatively) fine and not to worry (too much) about me.  She asked if I wanted her to come over, but to be honest, I told her that I’d rather just spend the day alone.  Some ‘me’ time, you know?

 

I showered somewhat awkwardly considering I had to keep my cast dry, and never really considered how difficult it would be to wash my hair with just one hand.  In fact, _everything_ I did was pretty difficult.  Even pouring myself a bowl of cereal was harder than I thought.  Turns out having to finagle your way around with only one hand is really fuckin’ hard. 

 

‘Six to eight weeks,’ the doctor had said.  Good Lord, could that go by any faster?

 

I curled up on my couch with my bowl of cereal resting on the armrest and my favorite knit blanket covering my legs, and I spent the whole morning watching cooking show reruns.  I kept thinking that if Sans were there with me, he would have made all kinds of shitty hand jokes at my expense.  He’d say something stupid like, “need a _hand_ with that?” or “i can be pretty _handy_ , you know.”  Prick would have probably asked me for a _hand_ job, too. 

 

I checked my phone, but no response from him. 

 

_“i love you.”_

…Fuck.  He had really said that last night, didn’t he?  Right in the middle of fucking me against a building.  But only after I’d told him to…  What did I say?  “Show me how much you love me”?  Why the hell did I say that?  What on God’s green Earth made me say that?  I ruined everything, I ruined _whatever_ it was that we had…  God, I’m just so fucking stupid, so _fucking_ stupid…  

 

After a while, the morning turned into afternoon, and the afternoon turned into evening, and I never left my spot aside from going to pee and grabbing my phone charger.  I sat on my sofa clutching my remote in my good hand, left alone to my thoughts of my selfishness and ignorance and…  Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell was wrong with me?

 

Should I have said something to him?  What should I have even said?  How did I even feel about this?  How am I _supposed_ to feel about this?  God, why couldn’t someone just tell me what to do?  I would give anything if someone would just tell me how to…

 

_“don’t let others tell you how to act.  think for yourself.”_

 

…Sans was right.  I needed to figure this out myself.  No one knows me better than myself…  But why was it just so fucking difficult to come to a conclusion about _Sans_ the mother fucking _skeleton?_

 

I was just horny, yeah?  That plus the sickening cocktail of adrenaline and pain from that night, it was enough to cloud my judgement, right?  I mean yes, it _was_ quite obvious that Sans loved me, but why did I have to go and fucking say that out loud? 

 

…I used him. 

 

I—I mean, so what?  He’s just a monster, not even a human.  It’s not like he didn’t _deserve_ to be treated like…

 

No, I couldn’t even say that.  He was more than ‘just a monster,’ at that point.  He’s witty and charming and thoughtful, and he’s really quite romantic when he wants to be.  Damn, those flowers were just so beautiful…

 

… “romantic.”

 

Is that how I wanted to see him?  Romantically?  Holy shit, was I defining the relationship right then?  No, I—I couldn’t be, I had told myself I couldn’t…  I wasn’t ready to…

 

He fucking stalked me, for crying out loud!  This wasn’t right, this wasn’t…

 

…Would I have wanted a relationship with Sans?

 

I mean, I still felt like I hardly knew anything about him.  He’s kept up his mysterious monster ruse pretty well, and doesn’t seem to want to answer any of my questions.  It’s really fucking annoying, if I’m being honest.  I still wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted out of this, either.  What was his end game?

 

What did _I_ want from this?

 

I felt so frustrated I wanted to pull my hair out and _fucking eat it._

 

Instead of doing that, however, I just decided stay calm and try to ignore it for the time being.  Things usually tended to work out eventually, right?  But I guess I was hoping for a more ‘out of sight, out of mind’ result.

 

I called it a night somewhere after midnight, and took some more meds to ease the pain in my hand enough to get me to sleep.  As I was getting ready for bed, I couldn’t help but glance over at my drawn curtains.  Was Sans out there, like he usually was?

 

I took a peek out my window, carefully drawing the curtain to the side with my finger.

 

Nothing.  Darkness.  The skeleton household had their curtains drawn, but there was a faint blue glow piercing through them.  Maybe a television?  Hmm.

 

I briefly wondered if smoking would have helped my anxiety.

 

My sheets felt soft and warm against my skin, and once again I practically fell asleep as soon as my head hit my pillow.  My eyes were sore from watching TV all day, and I had decided I never wanted to do anything ever again.

 

But then _work_ happened.

 

My first day back, I found my desk was a bloody mess.  Apparently my interns had tried to hold the fort down during my absence, and just ended up turning everything to shit.  Great.

 

Did I mention learning how to do everything with one hand was fucking hard?

 

I ended up forcing one of my interns into slavery to write down my dictations so I didn’t have to spend an hour trying to type up a single email.  I chose Matthew, one of the newer interns from some prestigious university out on the coast, and he wasn’t half bad at doing his newfound job. 

 

In fact, Matt did _everything_ for me.  He took notes for me at my meetings, surprised me with coffee on mornings after we stayed late to work on projects, and he even made for some nice conversation when we weren’t working too hard.

 

“So I heard you got that cuz you got in a fight.  That true?” he asked one day during our lunch break, his mouth still a bit wet from the big spoonful of tomato soup he’d just ladled into his mouth.

 

I felt somewhat taken off guard, and snorted nervously into my mug of coffee as I glanced down at my cast.  “Where’d you hear that?”

 

“Floating around the hospital,” he shrugged.  “Please tell me the other guy looks worse, though.”

 

“Broke his nose,” I smiled after a beat. 

 

“Whoa.  Remind me not to piss _you_ off.”

 

“Don’t piss me off.”

 

He snickered and went back to reading his book.

 

I checked my phone again out of habit, my subconscious pleading Sans to have texted me by then.  I was desperate for anything at that point, a pun, a winkie face, _anything_.

 

Sans had been quiet for two whole weeks by then, and I just didn’t know what to do.  I began watching out my window for extended periods of time, waiting for any kind of movement behind their perpetually drawn curtains to no avail. 

 

Did he just give up on me?  Was it that thing I said?  Was it what I _didn’t_ say?

 

I told myself that those questions didn’t really matter anymore since he had been out of my life for so long.  Suddenly, my ‘things would work out for the best eventually’ approach was working.  Well, without having to worry about that stupid skeleton, maybe I could _finally_ get some work done. 

 

I told myself I was too busy to go out drinking with Britt and Serena, but really I just didn’t feel like it.  They told me it wouldn’t be the same without their ‘third amiga.’  I tried to play it off, saying that no one wants to fuck some chick that couldn’t give a decent hand job.  They said they’d take some shots for me in my absence.

 

On the few nights I actually spent at home instead of working late at the hospital with Matt, I still mostly worked and ate cheap takeout in bed.  I told myself that if I kept busy, I would be happy, or that I would be able to ignore the weird empty feeling in my chest every time I looked out my window. 

 

I found myself masturbating way more often than I was used to.  In fact, I didn’t remember masturbating that much since I was in high school.  I tried blaming it on stress or boredom or some other facet of my life that wasn’t related to Sans, but I knew the real reason. 

 

Every time my mind drifted to what he might be doing during his radio silence, the memory of his boney hands touching me, feeling every inch of skin flooded every brain cell I was working with.  One time I had let my thoughts stray too far, and I imagined him fucking another girl.  My face was hot with jealous rage at the idea, and I nearly bruised my cervix from how hard I shoved my vibrator inside me.  I nearly cried after I had my orgasm. 

 

Did he leave me for some other girl…?

 

I had to quit thinking about him!  It was doing me no good.

 

I thought that maybe I was just lonely.  Maybe I could just adopt a puppy or something, slap a bandage on the problem and call it a day.  

Of course, you can’t just slap a plastic bandage on a gaping wound.

 

Christmas finally passed, and the majority of my work was over until the beginning of January.  I spent my holiday with Serena and Brittney and their families, and we had a lot of fun together drinking egg nog and eating Christmas-themed brunches.  They had wondered what happened to Sans, and I just told them the truth: it fizzled out. 

 

I finally got my cast off in mid-January, and I couldn’t be happier.  My hand felt pretty stiff when I tried to flex it, but I was so glad I didn’t have to suffer through the unbearable _itching_ under the cast anymore. 

 

Yup, things were returning to normal before long.  Matt kept doing things for me after I had my cast removed, and I told him I’d write him a solid recommendation when his internship was up.  We ended up spending a lot of time together after my injury, and I got to know him pretty well, too.  He seemed like a pretty cool guy.  I was sorry to see him go at the end of May.

 

A knock at my door on the last day of January startled me as I was pouring over my outlined work plans for the rest of the new year.  Now who could that have been?

 

I had to admit, I was taken completely off-guard when I opened the door to reveal none other than Sans’s much taller brother staring down at me through hooded eye sockets.  To be honest, I had thought that my skeleton neighbors has just packed up and moved away.  I never saw them go in or out of their building, and the curtains had stayed drawn for weeks now.

 

However, he seemed considerably less intimidating than the day I had first seen him two months ago.  He was wearing dark slacks stuffed into black combat boots, and his arms threaded through a heather grey knit sweater.  He was holding a plate of leftover spaghetti, thoroughly wrapped up in cellophane.  What a sight to behold.

 

“HUMAN,” he said to me, his shrill voice wavering slightly.  “MIGHT I HAVE A WORD?”

 

I had to consciously bring my jaw up from the floor before nodding to him, stepping aside to welcome him in.  His long legs took a few strides into my apartment, and I closed the door behind me quietly.  “Papyrus, right?” I recalled, leading him into my living room.  His red scarf was quite striking against his pale bones, and I noticed a deep scar above his right eye socket. 

 

“THE _GREAT_ PAPYRUS,” he corrected me.

 

“Oh, yeah, um.  Sorry.”  What was I supposed to say to that?

 

The _Great_ Papyrus took a seat across from me, placing his plate of spaghetti on the coffee table.  He leaned back into his chair, a pensive expression on his skull as he entwined his bare phalanges together and placed them into his lap. 

 

“So, uh, what can I do for you?”

 

Papyrus shifted his gaze to the side as he sighed deeply, pressing his chin into his palm.  “HUMAN, I DON’T KNOW YOU VERY WELL, BUT… I KNOW MY LAZY BONES BROTHER WAS ABSOLUTELY SMITTEN WITH YOU.  AND, WELL…  YOU’RE MY LAST RESORT.”

 

“Huh?  This is about Sans?”  Well, what else could it have been about?

 

He nodded in reply.  “I’M NOT TOO SURE ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED TO MAKE HIM LIKE THIS, BUT HE’S BEEN ACTING VERY...  STRANGE.”

 

What?

 

“Strange how?”  I mean, like he wasn’t already strange to begin with.

 

“HE’S BEEN ACTING SO…  SO FUCKING _LAZY_ FOR WEEKS, LAZIER THAN USUAL, BUT _THIS_ …  THIS IS JUST RIDICULOUS!” Papyrus shouted louder than his normal tone, throwing his hands into the air as he releases his frustrations with them.  “SANS HAS BEEN IN HIS WORKSHOP FOR EIGHT DAYS STRAIGHT, AND HE REFUSES TO RETURN HOME!”

 

“HE WON’T LET ME IN TO SEE HIM, BUT I KNOW HE SMELLS DREADFUL AND HE HASN’T BEEN SHOWERING AT ALL, WHICH JUST ISN’T SANITARY!  A-AND I EVEN TRIED BRINGING HIM MY PERFECTLY PREPARED SPAGHETTI AS A WAY TO LURE HIM OUT AND MAKE SURE HE GETS PROPERLY NOURISHED, BUT HE JUST…”

 

Papyrus sighed heavily and buried his face into his hands.

 

“TH-THIS ISN’T LIKE HIM TO DISOBEY ME SO DIRECTLY, AND I’M AT MY WITS’ END.  MY BROTHER IS OBVIOUSLY DEEPLY DISTRESSED, AND THOUGH IT IS MY BROTHERLY DUTY TO HELP HIM THROUGH THIS, I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO AT THIS POINT BESIDES COME TO YOU.” 

 

Papyrus flung himself to his knees before me, his boney hands shaking my shoulders hysterically as each word is punctuated.  “HUMAN, YOU MUST HELP ME SNAP MY NUMBSKULL BROTHER OUT OF WHATEVER DAZE HE’S BEEN SUCKED INTO!”

 

“P-Papyrus!” I shouted, and he startled enough to stop shaking me. 

 

Was Sans doing this because of the night I broke my hand?  I didn’t understand.

 

“I, uh,” I started, somewhat nervously.  “I mean sure, I guess.  I don’t really know why, though.  Sans has been ignoring me for months now.  What makes you think I’ll be able to help him?

 

“MY BROTHER IS ABSOLUTELY TERRIBLE WHEN IT COMES TO TALKING ABOUT HIMSELF OR HIS FEELINGS,” Papyrus begins, annoyance seeping into his voice.  “HE BOTTLES THINGS UP UNTIL SHIT LIKE THIS HAPPENS.  IT’S HAPPENED A COUPLE OF TIMES BEFORE, BUT EVERYTHING I’VE DONE IN THE PAST ISN’T WORKING ANYMORE!  PLEASE SAY YOU’LL HELP ME.”

 

“…okay, but what do you want _me_ to do, though?”

 

Papyrus jumped to his feet and struck a flamboyant victory pose, his fists landing squarely on his pelvis and his pointed jaw pulled into a confident smile. 

 

“NYEH HEH HEH!  I, THE GREAT AND TERRIBLE PAPYRUS, HAVE CONCOCTED THE PERFECT PLAN TO RETURN HIM TO THE COMPLACENT AND MODERATELY LAZY SKELETON I KNOW MY BROTHER TO BE!  YOU SEE, AFTER LYING IN BED CONTEMPLATING MY NEXT ATTEMPT AT BRINGING HIM HOME, I CAME UP WITH A BRILLIANT SCHEME ONLY SOMEONE AS DASHING AND RENOWNED AS MYSELF COULD HAVE DESIGNED!  INDEED, I THOUGHT TO MYSELF THAT PERHAPS THE HUMAN HE SO DESPERATELY WANTS TO MATE WITH CAN SPEAK SOME SENSE INTO HIM!”

 

 _Mate?_   He had meant just fucking, right?  Maybe it was just weird monster vernacular, something lost in culture translation. 

 

“You just want me to try talking to him?”

 

“AND!!!”

 

Papyrus smugly pushed the plate of spaghetti towards me on the coffee table. 

 

“YOU CANNOT FORGET TO BRING THE SYMPATHY SPAGHETTI!!!  IT IS THE KEY TO THE SUCCESS OF MY SCHEME!”

 

What a character.

 

“Of course, Papyrus.  I’ll see what I can do.”

 

I had spent the subway ride in pensive silence, staring at the cellophane-wrapped plate of spaghetti in my lap and trying to come up with something to say when I finally saw Sans after two whole months.  Maybe a hand pun?  Nah, that would be so stupid…

 

And so I found myself walking through the bad part of downtown XYZ on that cold January evening, the remnants of an earlier drizzling of sleet thinly coating the fallen snow as my boots dredge through it.

 

Gently balancing the pasta dish in the palm of my hand, I turned the corner to the street Papyrus had mentioned his shop was on.  I was supposed to be looking for a cobalt blue metal door, near the end of the street.  Wet snow crunched beneath my boots as I tried to make out the colors of the doors under the dim streetlights, but I finally found it.

 

In fact, I could hear it before I could see it.  Loud thrash metal was blaring through the door, muffled bass notes reverberating through the chipped cobalt paint.  I suddenly felt very intimidated as I stared at the slightly rusted metal door, my eyes falling over the aged door hinges and slightly iced-over knob.

 

My hand balled into a timid fist as I gently rapped at the door, the cold metal stinging my knuckles.  Nothing happened, and so I decided to knock a little bit harder. 

 

After a few seconds, the music only seemed to get louder.  What the…?

 

I pounded my fist at the door, the banging echoing down the street. 

 

Just open the goddamned door, Sans…

 

Once again, the music got even louder and I could barely hear myself think over the drum solo.  I kept pounding my fist at the door, trying to make sure it was loud enough to hear on the other side.  Finally, after a few seconds, the music stops.

 

“jesus _fucking_ christ!” Sans’s voice roars through the door, but he sounds quite far away.  “alright, you fuckin’ asked for it, papyrus!”

 

Uh oh.  I can hear some commotion coming from inside, and he screams _“fuck!”_ after a loud clatter, sounding like he’s just knocked down a pile of junk.

 

“i didn’t want to do this, but i fucking _warned_ you, you son of a bitch—“ the deadbolts on his door are being unlocked—“and you leave me no choice!  i’m gonna—“

 

Sans has whipped open the door so forcefully that I stumble backwards, tripping and falling on my ass into the snow with the spaghetti.  Sans is baring his teeth and holding a wooden bat over his shoulder, poised to strike at me with it.  His red flaming eye glances down and locks onto me, a cigarette hanging from between his sharp teeth. 

 

He stops mid-sentence when he realizes that I’m not Papyrus.  The bat falls out of his grip as the realization steadily washes over him, landing behind him with a clatter.

 

Sans looks horrible.

 

His eye sockets are even further sunken in than they were before, the deep, dark circles creeping down to his cheekbones.  It looks like hasn’t slept in a week.  He’s wearing what was once a black T-shirt, but the sleeves have since been cut off and the stretched out collar slumps over to one side.  The overwhelming stench of week-old skeleton body odor and cigarette smoke has started to waft over to my nose, and I hold back the urge to retch.  There’s something smudged on his face, too.  Motor oil?

 

Sans and I study each other in stunned silence for what seems like hours, but it must have only been a few heavy seconds.  A car passing by brings me out of the moment, and I try to remember the words I had planned on the subway.

 

“Hey,” is all that comes out of my mouth.  Sans blinks a couple of times at me, maybe thinking that if he blinks hard enough I’ll disappear. 

 

He peeks his head out from the doorway, glancing left and right down the street to see if anyone is around as he kicks the bat further into his workshop.  He finally looks down to me and the plate of spaghetti sitting next to me.  He sighs, slightly rolling his eyes as he offers his hand to pull me up.  “pap sent you, didn’t he?”

 

I take his sweaty hand and pull my weight into him, lifting myself out of the snow and giving my backside a good pat down to wipe away the wet snow.  “He’s worried about you.”  As I get to my feet, I catch a better whiff of his smell.  Oh, my God, it’s positively _foul_.

 

“yeah, i can tell.”

 

A thick silence falls between us as we avoid eye contact.  Sans stares at the ground as he takes a drag on his cigarette, and I stare at Sans.  His hand is trembling.

 

“So, uh.  You gonna let me in, or…?”

 

Sans brings his red eye to look me over a couple of times, gauging my body language.  He seems to be mulling something over in his head, and he leans back behind the door to check something out.  He pokes his head back out of the door to look at me one last time, sighing as he grumbles, “yeah, come on.  it’s cold out.”

 

I can’t help but feel that Papyrus would be proud of me as I bend down to pick up the plate of spaghetti, which is now quite firm from the frozen air, and walk through the cobalt blue door into Sans’s workshop.

 

And, um.  Man.  It looks exactly like Sans.

 

Terrible.

 

It’s a rather large space; in fact, it looks to be a converted auto garage.  The three large garage doors to the side hint at the building’s previous purpose, but they’ve all been padlocked to prevent them from opening.  The large, industry-standard fluorescent lights hanging overhead are somewhat dim, and the acrid scent of motor oil and bearing grease hits me like a freight train.  There are tools littered everywhere on the stained concrete floor, and a rather large tool chest sits in the middle of them all with half of its drawers open to reveal their lack of contents.

 

A space heater and one of those wheelie stools rest near what looks to be the steel framework of a motorcycle.  Is that what Sans has been working on? 

 

Sans’s voice snaps me back to reality as he mumbles behind me, “you want anything?”

 

I turn to look at him as he makes his way to a small kitchenette in the corner of his shop.  The counter is littered with dirty plates and empty wrappers for various food items, but the numerous Styrofoam cups of instant ramen seem to outnumber everything else combined.  Sans reaches for his coffee machine and flips the pot’s lid open, giving the brown liquid within a quick sniff.

 

“coffee’s still pretty fresh.  i think…  uh, what day is it?”

 

“Thursday.  I-I’m pretty good, though,” I manage to squeak nervously.

 

Sans shrugs and proceeds to pull his cigarette from his teeth in order to take a long gulp out of the coffee pot, not even bothering to pour it into a receptacle first.  He glances over at me out of the corner of his eye as he gulps the brown sludge down his gullet, and I try to keep myself from staring at him. 

 

What a train wreck.

 

He shakes his finger at me as he finishes his drink, putting his cigarette back between his teeth.  “your, uh.  your hand’s all better, huh?”

 

I find myself looking down to my hand, turning it over to inspect it like I didn’t even know I had the appendage in the first place.  “Um, yeah.  Got the cast off last week.”

 

“cool.”

 

He moves from behind the kitchenette and makes his way to one of his work tables, taking one last drag on his cigarette as he picks up a remote.  He points it towards a bookshelf with some kind of sound system set up within it, and presses a button.  The loud music returns, and I clamp my free hand over my ear to try to block it out.  Sans shouts “sorry!” over the music as his thumb presses the volume button repeatedly, turning the music down to a dull background noise.

 

Sans seems pleased with himself, and sets the remote down to pick up a couple of metal parts. 

 

Hoo boy.

 

“Sans,” I begin slowly, remembering my mission as I place the plate of spaghetti on a somewhat cleared portion of his counter.  “Are you… _okay?”_

 

Sans snorts as he stubs his cigarette butt into what used to be a lid to a coffee tin.  “i’m peachy keen.”  The smoke floats around his skull as he exhales, enveloping his face in a sickly cloud.

 

“…were you going to hit Papyrus with that bat if that had been him instead of me?”

 

Sans shrugs, still focusing his attention on what he’s doing.  “he wouldn’t quit harping on me to take a break, so i threatened to bash his skull in next time he tried to pull me away from my work.”

 

“Sans, that’s…”

 

“annoying as fuck, i know.”

 

A pregnant pause lands between us once again.

 

“When was the last time you slept?”

 

Sans leans his elbow against the work bench, pressing his fist into his cheek in thought as he watches his other hand thumb at the seam of a metal part.  “dunno.  at least a couple days.  been too busy to sleep.  hey, can you hand me that screwdriver by your foot?” he asks as he reaches his hand out expectantly.

 

I look down and sure enough, there’s a flat head screwdriver next to my boot.  I bend down to grab it, and as I feel it in my hand, I notice that it has stray flecks of mustard on the handle.  I walk over to his table and stand across from him, placing the screwdriver into his waiting phalanges.  I wipe my hand on my pants.

 

“thanks.”  His expression is pure nonchalance as he gets to work trying to loosen a screw, like I’ve just come to visit him at his posh executive office in the middle of the work day.

 

“Well, what have you been busy with?”

 

“stuff.”

 

I grunt in frustration, pressing my thumb and forefinger to my temples.  He never wants to answer any questions I ask.  “Sans, be honest.  Are you doing… _this_ because of that night?  Back in November?”

 

Sans stops fiddling with his screwdriver, setting it down and turning his head away to glance at a clock on the wall.  “you know, i wouldn’t have let ya in if i’d known you were just gonna drill me with a bunch of pointless fuckin’ questions.”

 

I move my hand to cover his own.  “Sans, please answer me,” I say in my softest voice.

 

Sans just pulls his hand away, still avoiding eye contact.  “tch.  no matter what you say to me, i’m _not_ going home,” he huffs in a deep voice.  “i want to work on my shit until it’s done.”

 

“…Sans, you need to—“

 

“I don’t _need_ to do anything, red!” he snaps at me, but he doesn’t even bother to face me. 

 

Another long silence plants itself between us, the faint sound of metal music echoing through his workshop.

 

Sans speaks first, his voice barely more than a mumble.  “you can leave now.  tell paps that i ate the whole plate in front of you, and that i’ll come home when i fucking come home.”

 

“No.”

 

Sans twists around and pounds his hands onto his work table as he bares his teeth at me.  “get the fuck out, _now!”_

I recoil, taking a step away from him.  His face is contorted in pain, his red eye flaring in his skull.  His breathing is sharp and ragged.  Maybe he’s right.  Maybe I should just go. 

 

Maybe this was a mistake.

 

But I wonder…

 

“…Why did you ignore me for two months?”

 

My voice is small and meek, and my eyes turn to my boots, too afraid to look at him.

 

Sans opens his mouth to reply but nothing comes out.  He bites his jaw and looks away, leaving a pregnant pause between us once again.

 

My eyes begin to burn with emotion.

 

_“Why did you fucking ignore me for two fucking months?”_

More silence.

 

“Why didn’t you just _say_ that you wanted to end it?  Sans, I…  It _was_ that night, wasn’t it?  I don’t know what I did to make you never want to see me again like that, and I just…”

 

Oh God, here it comes.  Emotional vomit.

 

“…It fucking hurt, okay?  I—I didn’t know what we were, or where we were going, but I had told myself that I wanted to find out.  I mean yeah, you’re a monster and I’m a human, and it would be pretty weird.  But I’ve never had better sex with anyone else, and that night we went to Club G, and you introduced me to Grillby and we bet on that stupid little snail and the way we talked like old friends when the races were over…”

 

My voice has started to crack as the burning tears in my eyes start to well up, clouding my vision.  Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. 

 

“A-And then you ignored every single one of my texts and calls, y-you never even said _goodbye_ when you dropped my ass off at the hospital!  Sans, you—you didn’t say a goddamn _word_ to me after you had just told me that you _fucking loved me!”_

 

I’m crying again, just like the last time he saw me.  I just close my eyes and let the tears take hold of my body, and suddenly all the emotions I’ve felt for Sans over the past couple of months flow out of eyes along with my tears.

 

Here comes more verbal vomit that I just can’t stop from spewing.

 

“Y-You can’t just— _hic!_ —you can’t just say that to someone and—and—and then just fucking _leave_ without another word!”

 

Sans seems very uneasy, his mouth pulled into a thin frown as he regards me with quiet trepidation. 

 

Anger starts to well up within me.  With one swift motion, I pull my sock hat from my head and throw it at his face.  “Fucking _say something,_ you prick!” 

 

Sans catches the hat as it falls from his face and calmly asks me, “what do you want me to say?”

 

_“Anything!”_

 

“…i’m sorry.”

 

“You—You’re fucking _sorry?”_ I scream.  “Is that fucking it?  That’s all you’ve got to say to me?”

 

Sans looks down at his work, his palms still pressed into the bench before him.  “i’m sorry i keep having to say that i’m sorry.  i’m sorry that i keep hurting you.  i needed to cut it off, before i hurt you so much that you...  i couldn’t save you that night, and i couldn’t…  you got hurt, and i…”

 

Sans clenches his fists around my hat.  “it’s better if we don’t do this.”

 

“Sans, I _want_ to do this, and you wanted to do it, too, at some point.  What changed?” 

 

Sans doesn’t reply.

 

“Do you really love me?”

 

Sans looks up at me, the dark circles under his eyes looking painful and fatigued.

 

“i think so.”

 

“You ‘think so’?”

 

“i’ve never felt this way before.  it’s… overwhelming.”

 

“You’ve never been in love before?”

 

“never had the opportunity.  have you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Sans clenches his fist again.

 

“Sans,” I begin softly, the tears starting to ebb away.  “Love is a really… strong feeling, and it takes lots of time to develop it for someone.  I knew from the way that you looked at me that night that you loved me, but it just took me off guard when you actually said it.”

 

“is it wrong for me to love you?”

 

“No, just…  You have to know that it’s way too soon for me to be able to say it back.”

 

Sans looks down at my beanie in his hands.

 

“But I want to say it, eventually.”

 

Sans looks up at me with a small smile. 

 

“…so you really wanna do this?”

 

“Yep.  Don’t make me regret it.”

 

“heh, you wanna know a secret?”

 

I wait for him to continue.

 

“i missed you.  a lot.”

 

I sigh heavily, placing my hand on my hips as I regard him with the same smile.

 

“I missed you, too, bonehead.”

 

“is this the part where we have makeup sex?  cuz I’ve heard that shit’s good.”

 

Oh yeah it is.

 

“ _Maybe_ I’ll _consider_ it after you take a fucking shower.”

 

“i don’t smell that bad, do i?” he asks as he sniffs at his armpits.  “it’s not that bad.”

 

“Put a coat on, you’re going home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this, try checking out my smutty [Blueberry Sans/Reader story](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8322331/chapters/19059940)! It's literally just smut. Like every chapter, there's something different. I'm having fun.
> 
> A lot of angst in this one, but there's always gotta be some angst for good smut. 
> 
> Sans is a dirty, dirty boy. 
> 
> This has a [deleted scene](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8280398/chapters/20312068)! Go read it if you're curious what could have been.
> 
> Check me out on [tumblr](http://whoawicked.tumblr.com)! I don't do much, but I crave attention.


	20. Not One for Patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter for you guys today, with some good old fashioned fluff and some character development. Maybe exposition? You don't know yet lmao.

“You can’t smoke on the train,” I remind Sans as he reaches into his pocket.

 

The subway ride is long as we sit across from each other, staring. No one is in this car, probably because of how Sans smells. He _stinks_. I can imagine cartoony stink lines coming from above his head, or that if he walked through a field of flowers, they would all wilt and shrivel in his wake.

 

Sans scoffs and abruptly pulls his hand away from his pocket, leaning forward to press his elbow into his femur, resting his head in his hand.

 

“fuck this shit. why didn’t we take a fuckin’ cab?”

 

“You think a cabbie’s gonna let you in his car with you smelling like that? Nah, Sans, you’re stuck with good ole _public transportation_.”

 

Sans grunts in displeasure, shifting to bounce his knees and tap his phalanges rhythmically on his femurs. His forehead is coated in that faint red sweat, and it’s then that I realize that Sans is very… _anxious_.

 

“…You okay?”

 

Sans glances over at me with a strained look, but forces his smug grin onto his serrated teeth. “i’ll be fine. it’s just, ehh… the train isn’t my thing. being this far underground, y’know?”

 

Oh.

 

“O-Oh shit, Sans, I’m sorry, I—“

 

Sans waves me off. “it’s okay, red. i’ll be okay. it’ll be over soon.” He seems to say that last part more to himself than anything.

 

I look at my hands folded in my lap, trying to come up with what to say next.

 

“If you don’t like the train, then how do you usually get to your shop all the way across town? Taxis?”

 

Sans shrugs, stuffing his fists into his pocket, and I can see the fabric bulge as he plays with his lighter within. “shortcuts.”

 

“So what, you walk?”

 

“somethin’ like that.”

 

I narrow my eyes at Sans. “You’re doing it again.”

 

Sans sighs heavily, his anxiety coming through in full force. “it’s weird, alright? i—i don’t want to tell you.”

 

“Sans, you can tell me anything. You won’t scare me away. We’ve had this discussion, remember?”

 

As we were waiting on the platform together, I had made Sans promise to answer my questions honestly and completely from now on, no matter what they were. I threatened to leave him for real if he kept doing it, so hopefully I can start to learn more about Mister Mysterious here. Sans had reluctantly agreed to my terms.

 

Sans scrubs his hands into his face as he sighs again, the bone-scraping-bone sound a little bit unnerving. “fine, _fine_. you really wanna know? fine.”

 

Sans proceeds to mumble something into his hands, but I can’t hear him.

 

“What? I didn’t hear you.”

 

“i said i can fucking _teleport_ ,” comes a hoarse growl as he slaps his hands down to his femurs.

 

“You can _what?”_

 

“ _teleport_ ,” he hisses at me between his teeth. “stars, am i speakin’ another fuckin’ _language_ here?”

 

His tone is rather unpleasant, but I just chalk it up to his anxiety.

 

“That’s pretty cool,” I admit softly. Sans looks up to me, like that wasn’t the reaction he was expecting. He scoffs and starts to drum his fingers on his femurs again.

 

“i’m just lazy. comes in handy when i don’t feel like movin’, y’know?”

 

“Hey,” I start, suddenly remembering certain events. “If you can teleport, then why didn’t you just teleport away from those guys that night?”

 

“and what, just leave you to deal with those ass clowns?”

 

“You can’t teleport other people?”

 

“it’s not a fucking taxi service, red. it takes a lot of concentration with just me, let alone a passenger.  and i dunno if you remember, but i was pretty fucked up on those shots that night.”

 

“Yeah,” I muse quietly, vaguely remembering how many shots he’d taken.

 

Sans grits his teeth and looks away from me.

 

“...that’s why i didn’t use my magic, you know.”

 

“Huh?  ‘Cuz you were drunk?”

 

Sans leans his skull back against the window, looking out at the pitch blackness of the subway tunnel.

 

“you know what monster liquor is, right?”

 

“Yeah, you said it was magic.”

 

“yup. and i drank a lot.”

 

“So you had a lot of magic in your body?”

 

“bingo. using my attacks when my soul is supercharged like that is not recommended. i, uh. i woulda killed those guys if i didn’t restrain myself. took everything i had not to dust ‘em.”

 

That was restraint?

 

“Well why didn’t you just say that?”

 

“i didn’t wanna scare ya. i had things under control, but then you went and did something really fuckin’ stupid,” he hisses, throwing his hand into the air.

 

“’Under control’?  Sans, they had us cornered!”

 

“nah, red. they were laughin’ real hard at my jokes, remember? they would have let us go when i told them the one about the hamburger.”

 

Before I can stop myself, my eyebrow cocks in curiosity.

 

“yeah, the hamburger walks into a bar, but the bartender says, ‘sorry, we don’t serve food here.’”

 

A beat passes before I get the joke, and I find myself holding in my snickers.

 

“That was bad.”

 

“but in a good way.”  Sans winks exaggeratedly.

 

I roll my eyes and lean my head back, sucking in a deep breath. “Whatever you say.”

 

“ya don’t gotta resort to violence all the time, even when you think you’re cornered,” Sans muses quietly.  “strikin’ up a friendly conversation or tellin’ some bad jokes... ya don’t gotta fight to win.”

 

“Yeah,” I scoff sarcastically. “Right. That’s pretty hypocritical of you, to say the least. Remember Handsy McGrabs-a-Lot at the club?”

 

Sans starts to sweat some more and looks to his feet. “that doesn’t count. prick deserved what he got. i said i’d protect you, and...”

 

A heavy silence settles itself in the aisle between us. Sans shifts uncomfortably in his seat before finally mumbling, “you know i’m the reason you broke your hand, right?”

 

I look down to my hand, now perfectly healed as it settles in my lap.

 

“What?”

 

“the wine you had. you still had some leftover magic in your system when you snubbed that guy. your physical form wasn’t strong enough to take it, so it gave way. it just sorta... _snapped_. like a fuckin’ pencil.”

 

Sans throws his head into his hands again. “you broke it cuz i let you try it out, thinking it wasn’t gonna do ya any harm… oh yeah, sans, real _great idea_ ya had there… fuck. i’m sorry, it’s my fault. it’s always my fault. i can’t protect anyone... why am i always so useless, so stupid, so…”

 

Uh, jeez, he’s really working himself up there. What do I…?

 

Oh, hey, I know.

 

“…Hey, Sans.”

 

I reluctantly cross the aisle to sit next to him, forcing my olfactory senses to shut down long enough to be this close to Sans. He looks up at me with a puzzled expression as I dig into my coat pocket, pulling out a folded sheet of dark plastic.

 

“Look, I uh... I got this for you.”

 

I’m trying so hard not to retch right now.

 

He gives me a weird look as he takes the sheet and begins to unfold it, and I hear a strained noise come out of his mouth as he stares at it with wide eyes.

 

“r-red… what… this isn’t... what the fuck is…?”

 

“Hold it up to the light so you can see it better.”

 

Sans looks around the car to make sure no one had slipped in unnoticed during the last stop, but shakily holds the creased plastic up to the light. He sucks in a deep breath as he stares at the x-ray I had swiped for him when I had first gone to the hospital, and his teeth curl into a wicked smile.

 

“oh my god.”

 

He starts to cackle quite nervously.

 

“oh my _fucking_ god,” he breathes, his voice hitching as he stares at the white bones in my hand, the little fracture barely visible in the metacarpal under my pinkie.

 

I can’t read his expression. Is this a bad or good reaction?

 

“Pretty cool, r-right?”

 

Sans turns to me, his eyes filled with crazed lust as he replies, _“hell fucking yes.”_

 

He moves to kiss me, but I’m not touching him with a ten-foot pole right now, and so I quickly jump up and grab a swaying handle.

 

“U-Um, let’s wait until you’ve had a shower, then, huh?”

 

Sans seems to growl in response, but nods as he rolls his eyelights in his sockets. He takes one last look at the x-ray before folding it back up and shoving it into his pocket.

 

“it’s a, uh... nice gift, red. thanks.”

 

He’s got the biggest cheese dick smile on his face right now, and seems considerably less anxious. I could do without the weird look he’s giving me, though.

 

* * *

 

Papyrus opens the door to their apartment before Sans can even put his key into the lock.

 

“ _SANS!_ IT’S ABOUT _FUCKING_ TIME!”

 

“b-boss, hey, i— _eurk!“_

 

Sans is suddenly whisked into his apartment, a strained noise escaping his throat.

 

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, SANS. YOU STINK TO THE HIGH HEAVENS, AND YOU KNOW THAT I WILL NOT TOLERATE THAT SORT OF DISGUSTING PERSONAL HYGIENE IN THIS HOUSEHOLD.”

 

Papyrus has a death grip on the hood of Sans’s jacket as he drags his brother down a hallway, not even bothering to close the front door behind him. I take the opportunity to slip inside their home, quietly closing the door behind me. Papyrus’s voice echoes somewhere to my left, probably on his way with Sans to their bathroom.

 

“YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY _FILTHY_ , BROTHER! I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU LET YOURSELF GO LIKE THIS!”

 

“g-get the fuck off of me, papyru— _uuuuuhhhwhoa!_ hey— _hey!_ that’s my— _oof!”_

 

“SAY GOODBYE TO THESE CLOTHES, FOR I WILL MOST CERTAINLY HAVE TO BURN THEM.”

 

“damn, paps, at least take me out to dinner fir— _gah_ , quit— _quit pushing me, goddamnit!”_

 

I hear the shower start, followed by a loud bang, and then Sans’s high-pitched shriek echoing into the foyer.

 

_“holy **fuck** , that’s cold!”_

 

“GOOD! MAYBE THE COLD WATER WILL MAKE YOU THINK TWICE NEXT TIME YOU CONSIDER FORGOING YOUR BASIC PERSONAL HYGIENE. BUT DON’T WORRY, IT SHOULD GET WARM IN A FEW MOMENTS.”

 

I find myself smiling and shaking my head at the two brothers. Their dynamic is quite… special, I decide.

 

As their bickering echoes continue to trickle into the foyer, I take a moment to admire their home. The ceilings are quite tall by apartment standards, and the décor is mostly in varying shades of beiges and grays, the couch being a soft charcoal color. There’s a rather large television at the focal point of the living room, and I can’t help but gawk at just how _big_ it is. The kitchen looks quite professional, with a six burner gas range that I recognize as the brand used on most of the cooking shows I watch. Do the skeleton brothers do a lot of cooking?

 

I hear footsteps behind me, and turn around to see Papyrus rounding the corner with a pile of Sans’s clothes held in his outstretched arms, his nose bone turned up in haughty disgust. He holds back retching noises, and I start to wonder if skeleton monsters can vomit without stomachs.

 

Papyrus glides past me quite gracefully, not paying me any mind on his way to what I would assume to be their laundry room. I hear a door open and then close, and then Papyrus emerges once again.

 

He makes his way to the kitchen sink and begins to wash his hands, grumbling to himself as he pours copious amounts of soap into his skeletal phalanges. He wrings them together silently, sudsing his hands up thoroughly before running them under the faucet once again to rinse them off.

 

I watch as he grabs a kitchen towel from near the sink and begins to wipe his hands dry, but he slows down, tilting his head to the side as he looks at nothing in particular. Is he trying to listen to something?

 

“SANS!” he shouts suddenly, catching me off guard. “YOU’D BETTER BE TAKING AN ACTUAL SHOWER INSTEAD OF JUST RUNNING THE WATER AGAIN!”

 

“awe, _come on_ , paps! it ain’t _that bad!”_ rings Sans’s halfhearted reply.

 

“DON’T MAKE ME FUCKING SCRUB YOU DOWN MYSELF, I’M NOT YOUR BLOODY CHAMBER MAID!”

 

They sure are screaming a lot, and my gut is telling me that this is quite a normal happenstance. I hope the neighbors don’t mind.

 

Papyrus sighs as he throws the towel he was holding over the sink and braces his weight on the kitchen counter, placing his hand over his face in frustration. His fingers spread as he peeks his eyelights at me, and seems to straighten his spine in an attempt to regain his composure. He approaches me slowly, deliberately, holding his hands behind his back as he takes long, dignified strides.

 

He stops before me.

 

“HUMAN,” he greets me solemnly.

 

And then he bends down to hug me.

 

Yes, the Great and Terrible Papyrus, a former member of the Underground Royal Guard, has wrapped his long arms around my shoulders, drawing me close to him in a warm embrace.

 

“…Thank you,” he grumbles, probably not used to hugging very often. He quickly pulls away before swiping at the front of his body, pretending to brush away… I dunno, human cooties or something.

 

“TH-THAT IS TO SAY THAT I APPRECIATE YOUR AID IN BRINGING MY BROTHER HOME.”

 

“Not a problem,” I reply wholeheartedly. “You’re just looking out for your little bro, huh?”

 

Papyrus blinks a couple of times before snickering into his hand.

 

“Wh-What? What did I say?”

 

Papyrus shakes his head absentmindedly. “NYEH HEH… OH MY GOD, THAT’S HILARIOUS. SANS ALWAYS GETS MISTAKEN FOR THE YOUNGER BROTHER BECAUSE OF HIS STATURE, BUT IN REALITY _I’M_ THE YOUNGER ONE.”

 

Oh. Whoops?

 

Papyrus actually pats my head a couple of times. “HE HATES IT WHEN PEOPLE DO THAT, NYEH HEH. DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT, TINY HUMAN. I WON’T TELL HIM.”

 

“…I have a name, you know.”

 

“WELL, EVERY HUMAN I’VE MET SO FAR SEEMS TO HAVE A NAME, SO I DIDN’T THINK OTHERWISE FOR YOU.”

 

“It’s X.”

 

“NICE TO OFFICIALLY MEET YOU, I SUPPOSE, _HUMAN_.”

 

What a pompous jerk.

 

“…So, Sans never mentioned my name when he talked about me?”

 

Papyrus sighs and makes his way to a couch, settling down and letting his long arms drape over the back. “I BELIEVE I’VE MENTIONED HOW SANS NEVER LIKES TO TALK ABOUT THINGS,” Papyrus states matter-of-factly.

 

“Yes, he’s definitely, the, um… _brooding_ type,” I muse, restlessly shuffling my feet.

 

“INDEED, AND IT’S ONLY WORSENED SINCE WE’VE BEEN ON THE SURFACE. IT’S ALWAYS BEEN HARD TO KNOW EXACTLY WHAT’S GOING ON WITH HIM, BUT I’VE LEARNED TO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF WHAT HE _WILL_ TELL ME. USUALLY HE LACES OUR CONVERSATIONS WITH TERRIBLE PUNS AND DIRTY JOKES TO HIDE HIS TRUE PERCEPTIONS AND ENDEAVORS, BUT I HAVE BECOME QUITE SKILLED IN SORTING THROUGH HIS OBNOXIOUS RIFF RAFF TO UNDERSTAND THE INNER WORKINGS OF HIS MIND.”

 

Papyrus glances over at me, his eyelights running me up and down like I’m a choice slab of meat.

 

“AND FROM WHAT I’VE GATHERED, HE’S UNDENIABLY CHARMED WITH YOU,” he ponders after a beat, throwing his hand around in a frustrated gesture. “MY BROTHER HAS ALWAYS BEEN RATHER PERVERSE IN HIS SEXUAL ENDEAVORS, BUT _YOU_ … YOU SEEM TO BE QUITE DIFFERENT FROM HIS USUAL HUMAN… _COMPANIONS_.”

 

Getting compared to whores again. That’s me. This is what my life is now. Great.

 

“SO TELL ME, TINY HUMAN, DO YOU FEEL THE SAME WAY ABOUT HIM?”

 

Oh jeez.

 

“Well, I—“

 

“OH! ARE YOU GOING TO DO THAT SILLY MATING RITUAL I’VE READ ABOUT IN MY DATING MANUAL IN WHICH YOU FOREVER WEAR A ROCK ON YOUR FINGER TO CONVEY YOUR EVERLASTING SEXUAL SLAVERY TO SANS?”

 

“Wh-What?” _Dating manual?_

 

“PERSONALLY, I COULD NEVER UNDERSTAND THE APPEAL OF SUCH A BIZARRE CEREMONY. I WOULD MUCH PREFER A STURDY LEATHER COLLAR TO INDICATE A PRISONER’S INDEFINITE SERVITUDE TO SOME USELESS ROCK, BUT I SUPPOSE I COULD SEE THE CHARM IN AN AGE-OLD HUMAN TRADITION.”

 

Man, this guy is intense.

 

I take a deep breath. “Papyrus, I don’t think that…” Oh, where are the words? “…Um, listen, Sans and I still have a long way to go before… any of that happens…”

 

Papyrus smirks at me knowingly, bearing his sharpened fangs. “WELL, HUMAN, I MUST WARN YOU: MY BROTHER IS NOT ONE FOR PATIENCE.”

 

I sigh and scratch the back of my head a bit. “Yeah… I’ve noticed.”

 

During the following awkward silence, I can hear the shower turn off.

 

Papyrus jumps to his feet and clears his throat despite being a skeleton. “I’M AFRAID I MUST RUN TO THE STORE NOW IN ORDER TO PICK UP SOME THINGS FOR TOMORROW.” He jets over to the entryway closet and pulls out a thick winter coat and his tattered red scarf. “WOULD YOU BE COMFORTABLE CHECKING ON SANS TO MAKE SURE HE’S BATHED ADEQUATELY?”

 

“I—I mean, I suppose so, if you wanted me to…”

 

“GREAT!” he chirps as he shoves his arm through the first sleeve. “JUST MAKE SURE HE TAKES ANOTHER AFTER YOU’RE FINISHED WITH HIM.”

 

After I’m _what?_ How does he…?

 

“HAVE FUN!” Papyrus swings the door open wide and waves goodbye at me before slamming it shut, leaving a deafening silence in the apartment.

 

Welp.

 

I begin to make my way down their hallway to where I believed I had heard their bickering. As I make my way to the bathroom, I pass a door with several strips of yellow crime scene tape attached to the finish, the words “CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS” going every which way. Somehow I get the feeling that this is Papyrus’s room… And that he found those when he moved in.

 

I can start to feel some more humid air as I continue down the hall, and I suppose that the next door would be their bathroom. I poke my head through the slightly ajar door, and see Sans with a towel wrapped around his pelvis in front of his bathroom mirror. He’s…

 

…oh, my God…

 

He’s _flexing_.

 

I grasp my hand to my mouth to muffle my giggles at how silly that is. He’s a skeleton! He doesn’t even have muscles to flex! What’s he even…?

 

I watch as Sans groans and lets his arms fall limp to his sides, his hand pressing into his face in frustration. He leans forward on the marbled countertop, pawing at the dark circles under his eye sockets. He doesn’t look very pleased.

 

Oh, no… Does he feel bad about himself? I suppose that, despite not having much of a body to begin with, even skeleton monsters can have a poor self-image. In fact, Sans seems to be quite the anxious individual...

 

I pull myself away from the door and give it a couple of gentle raps with the back of my knuckle. “You decent?”

 

“uh, one sec!” Sans hurriedly calls back to me. I wait for a few seconds as Sans shuffles around a bit in his bathroom, but push the door open regardless.

 

He’s struggling to pull one of his turtlenecks over his head, and he’s already pulled some grey sweatpants on. The faint smell of nutmeg, cinnamon, sandalwood, and something else I can’t really put my finger on drifts over to my nose as I walk closer to him. Mmm…

 

He grunts as the fabric slides over his skull, but recoils when he sees me standing in front of him. “fuckin’ _jeez_ , i said to give me a sec! can’t a guy get some goddamned _privacy_ in his own home?”

 

I cross my arms and stare at him with my eyebrow cocked, waiting until he sees the irony of his statement.

 

“…oh. right.” He blushes and stuffs his hands into his pockets. I wonder what he would do with his hands if he didn’t always have pockets to shove them into all the time.

 

“You smell better,” I think out loud. “A lot better.”

 

Sans perks up at my statement. “does that mean what i think it means?”

 

I smile nervously and nod, and I can feel my own blush peppering my cheekbones. Why am I blushing? I don’t blush. We’ve already had sex! Why am I flustered?

 

Sans takes my hand gently, clasping each of his phalanges between my fingers, and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. “my room’s this way, darlin’.”

 

Sans leads me down the hall to an unmarked door, pushing it open to reveal his room. I had expected it to be a total pig sty, just like his shop, and apparently so did Sans.

 

“wha—fucking _papyrus!”_ he growls as he digs his phalanges into his skull. His room looks quite tidy; the faint smell of fabric freshener wafts through the air and the carpet still has tracks from where it’s been passed over with a vacuum.

 

“i hate it when he does this!” he groans as he walks around the empty space in his room, taking a moment to flip through the neatly stacked papers on his desk. “it’s going to take me _weeks_ to get it back to how it was…”

 

Sans huffs in annoyance as he marches over to his bed. His bed has been made quite neatly… so neatly, in fact, that I believe I could bounce a dime on it. He’s about to reach for his sheets to tear them away from the bed, but stops, his hand hovering over a pillow.

 

“oh, my god.”

 

“What is it?” I walk up next to him to see what he’s staring at.

 

“he put _mints_ on my pillows.”

 

And sure enough, there are little chocolate mints wrapped up in tin foil placed delicately on top of each of his pillows.

 

Sans and I exchange bewildered expressions before succumbing to curt chuckles, and then losing ourselves in hearty laughs. That’s just such a silly thing to do.

 

“i guess he was just— _snrk_ — _maid_ for hospitality.”

 

“I thought he said he wasn’t your… oh, what was it? _Chamber maid?”_

 

Sans rolls his eyelights in his skull and grabs the mints in his hand, placing them on his bedside table. “he watches too many of those old period dramas you humans have,” he sighs. “he says he just wants to ‘observe the history of human decapitation,’ but i’ve caught him crying like a baby bones on more than one occasion.”

 

The thought of The Great and Terrible Papyrus getting all teary-eyed watching some silly dramatic TV show and tidying up for Sans for when he got home makes me smile. The skeleton brothers are really quite a bit alike: all bark and no bite. Just a couple of big softies.

 

I kick off my shoes and quickly turn down Sans’s fluffy duvet, crawling into his bed and burying my face into his pillow. Regardless of the fresh sheets and fabric freshener, it still smells distinctly like cigarettes and mustard. There’s something oddly comforting about this.

 

Sans seems surprised. “i thought we were gonna get on top of the sheets.”

 

“We can do what we’re gonna do under the covers, I’m just cold.” I reach my arms out for him. “C’mere. Warm me up?”

 

A thin smile curls itself on his face as he crawls into his bed with me, and I wrap my arms around his neck to pull him close to me. His own arms encircle my waist, pulling me flush with his ribs and sternum.

 

“this better?” he breathes into my neck, nuzzling the soft flesh with his cheek bone.

 

I hum in response, bringing my lips to brush against his forehead. I feel his ribs expand as he takes a solid, deep breath, and then slowly exhale. So weird.

 

Sans stays buried in the crook of my neck for a few minutes, my chin resting on his skull, and we just listen to the sound of each other’s breathing. It’s nice.

 

But ‘nice’ isn’t really what I came for.

 

I clear my throat to interrupt the silence. “Sans,” I coo softly, “Make-up sex?”

 

Sans doesn’t respond.

 

“…Sans?”

 

No response. I start to get kind of worried, so I pull away from him. His eye sockets are closed loosely, his mouth slightly open as his torso rises and falls with deep, even breaths. I gently tap at his ribs, but nothing happens.

 

Sans fell asleep. He’s out like a light.

 

I sigh and roll my eyes in mild annoyance, but there’s no denying that he probably needs this. Looking at the dark circles under his eyes makes me wonder how long he’s gone without sleep, and I start to feel pretty sorry for him. When he spent the night at my house last year, he was up when I woke up. Did he sleep at all that night...?

 

Hmm.

 

I glance over at a clock nearby to find that it’s only nine in the evening, a bit too early for myself to fall asleep.

 

And right next to his clock is a thick volume entitled, “Seeing Stars: A Beginner’s Guide to Advanced Topics in Astronomy and Astrophysics.”

 

Hmm. Reading material before bed? I would have assumed Sans just jacked off to lull himself to sleep, but I suppose that reading would help with that, too.

 

I check to make sure Sans is pretty sound asleep one more time, but he doesn’t seem like he’s going to wake up anytime soon. In fact, if he didn’t ‘breathe’ I probably would have considered him dead.

 

I slowly reach my arm out and over his shoulder to touch the book, my fingers catching it and sliding it forward on the table so that I can grip it. I thumb through the volume behind Sans, propping my chin on his skull as I flip the pages.

 

Oh?

 

Inside the astronomy book is another book: “The Official Dating Rulebook.” This book is covered in worn black leather, the author's name worn away, with a couple of water stains on the edges of some pages. It smells rather musty, like it sat somewhere moist for a long time before it ended up in Sans’s possession.

 

Is this what Papyrus had mentioned earlier?

 

I notice a bookmark sticking out from the top and open it to that page. The bookmark is just an old scrap of paper, like it’s a corner of a sheet of paper torn out of a notebook.

 

Hmm. What’s...?

 

_“_ **_TROUBLESHOOTING_ ** _”_

 

I read the following passage as it describes ways to apologize to your date if something goes wrong, such as giving them things like chocolates or flowers or massages, or standing outside their window with a boombox held over your head to play some mushy rock ballad from the eighties.

 

So basically just a bunch of clichés.

 

Did Sans read this crap to try to find a way to talk to me after what happened? That’s so... endearing. Poor guy must not know a whole bunch about relationships, so he uses this book to help him out.

 

I start to skim through the chapters covering date etiquette, finding certain tidbits about wearing special ‘date’ clothes, offering to pay for the date, and even bringing flowers to show your affection.

 

Oh, my God. Sans has done _all of those things._

 

What a dork.

 

Sans sighs in his sleep and squeezes me tighter in his arms, nuzzling his cheek into my neck.

 

And I can’t help but to think that he’s _my_ dork.

 

I place the dating manual back into his astronomy book and lean over to put it back on his nightstand, turning his lamp off in the process. I grab a handful of his duvet and pull it over the both of us, settling into a comfortable sleeping position with Sans pressed up against me.

 

This is nice. Maybe nice is what I need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _You thought!_
> 
> Sans was waaaay too tired for sex. I mean, what did you expect? He's been running on stale coffee, energy bars, and spicy ramen for almost two weeks, _at least._ He just got out of a hot shower, put on some clean and comfy clothes, and then snuggles up next to his warm human. He crashed. Let the skelly rest. Shh. He's sleeping. So peaceful. Let the Fell!Sans/Happiness ship sail. ~~for now~~
> 
> Fell Papyrus is fun to write. I wanted to make him alliterate way too much in his dialogue, but I thought that headcanon might be a bit much for you guys lmao. Although he's very obviously quite the wingman for Sans.
> 
> Here's my shitty [tumblr](http://whoawicked.tumblr.com)! Come ask me things about headcanons or something, I don't bite. Promise.
> 
> Here's my sooper smutty [Swap!Sans/Reader](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8322331/chapters/19059940) fic.


	21. Nightmare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the month hiatus. A combination of retail hell and lack of motivation to write has left me kind of at a loss for words. Writer's block and all that. 
> 
> This is a shorter chapter than normal, but I guess I just wanted to let you guys know that I'm not dead lmao. Enjoy.

  ** _CRRRK._**

 

Sans watched in horror as she collapsed to her knees on the snowy ground, clutching her wrist with her hand.  Her blood-curdling scream echoed down the alley they were in, and Sans felt something snap within his very soul.  The shrill sound that erupted from her throat haunted him like a poltergeist, and he began to tremble in fear…  No, anger?  Is that what he was feeling?

 

Yes, anger.

 

But… at whom?  They were all alone, just she and him in this alley.

 

Sans quickly ran up to her kneeling body slumped in the snow as she choked back sobs and whimpers from the pain.   He reached his hand out to help her, but she recoiled, scrambling back in the snow to escape his touch.

 

“G-Get away from me!” she hissed at him, and he felt his anger subside, melting away into apprehension.

 

“wh… what?  i just want to help ya, red…”

 

He began walking towards her again, but she let a shrill scream escape her throat, holding her good hand up above her face as if she’s protecting herself from him. 

 

She’s… afraid.

 

“N-No, please, d-don’t hurt me!” she begged of him.  “I—I’ll do anything, just please, don’t—“ _sniff “_ —don’t hurt me again…!”

 

Sans felt his soul begin to crack, tiny spider web fractures forming in the glowing white energy within his chest.  Her tears were streaming down her cheeks, crusty and half-frozen from the cold.  Her legs were splayed out underneath her, starting to turn blue from hypothermia.  She kept crying and blubbering like a child, and her red hair fluttered softly behind her from a chilled breeze.

 

“i—i didn’t hurt you,” he reasoned with her.  “i—it wasn’t me…!”  Maybe he was reasoning with himself.

 

“Th-Then why didn’t you sa-ave me…?” she choked back.

 

Sans felt the tears welling up within his sockets at seeing her so desperate, so pathetic.  He never wanted to see her like this…  And yet he was the cause of her current state.  He stepped back from her, unable to come up with something to say or do to comfort her. 

 

This was all his fault.  All his fault.  He couldn’t do anything to stop it.

 

All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.  All his fault.

 

“Sans.”

 

Sans whipped around at the sound of his name coming from that oh-so-familiar voice, tears streaming down his cheek bones.

 

“papyrus?” he called out to his brother.

 

His taller brother loomed in the distance, his silhouette only visible in the shadows of the alleyway. 

 

Sans felt relief wash over him, comforting him like a warm blanket.  He loved his brother so damned much.  Just seeing him made him so happy.  He started towards Papyrus, his sneakers plunging into the cold snow underfoot. 

 

“I still believe in you.  You can do better.”

 

What? 

 

_No!_

 

Sans started to feel a sense of dread.  He just needed to run faster, to embrace his brother, and he could save him.

 

_Save him from what?_

 

Sans didn’t know, but he pushed himself to run faster.  Why was this alleyway so fucking _long?_

 

Faster, _faster_.

 

_Run, dammit!_

 

His brother’s face came into view, a soft smile spread over his skull and his eyes gentle pinpricks of light within his sockets.

 

“papyrus!” he called out, rushing to embrace his brother with open arms.

 

But nobody came.

 

Sans fell down to the snow as he tried to wrap his arms around a column of dust, sliding on his knees and leaving him gripping his brother’s tattered red scarf.  The dust blew away in the cold wind, and Sans felt lost. 

 

“…pap…  papyrus?”

 

_No!  Not again!_

What kind of sick déja vu was this?

 

Sans stood to his feet, his red eye flaring in his skull and his teeth bearing in unbridled fury.

 

He blinked.

 

Sans found himself glaring down at the human child in front of him again, like he’s done oh-so many times in that same golden hallway. 

 

“kid, i’m fuckin’ warnin’ ya!  if ya take one more goddamned step…”

 

“You’re so pathetic.”

 

Sans felt his anger well up within his cracked soul at the child’s words, watching them so nonchalantly twirl their knife in their hand.

 

“Couldn’t even save that human girl.”

 

What?

 

Sans watched as the child’s red eyes smoldered in the dim hallway, burning into his very soul as they pointed the blade to him.

 

“Would you like to?”

 

Sans recoiled.  “wh-what the hell are you talking about?”

 

“Save her, I mean,” the child elaborated, retracting the knife to thumb at the sharp edge.  “I could reset.  We could start all over again.  You can save her next time.”

 

Sans stayed silent.

 

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” the child continued, voice laden with honey.  “To start all over, I mean.  To be back here, in the Underground.  It’s what you know, after all.  It’s easy.  No more guessing, no more _worrying_.  You’ll know what would happen if I did this or said that…”

 

Sans subconsciously clenched his fists at his sides.  “then you’d be a lying piece of shit, just like i always knew you were.”

 

“You’re not answering me, Sans.”  The child cocks their head to the side unnaturally, smiling wickedly.  “Do you want to go back?”

 

“why the hell would i want to go back to this shithole?” Sans hissed in response, waving his hand around him.  “nothing about this was _easy_.  the fighting, the hatred, the _dust_ …  i hated every minute of it.  every single waking moment was some kind of sick, twisted—“

 

“Nightmare?” the child finished for him.  “Then what makes the surface so different?  The way you toss and turn at night, drowning your sorrows in your beloved mustard.  And all those girls, Sans…  Tsk tsk.  What would _she_ think if she knew how many women you’ve taken to bed before her?”

 

Sans felt his fists relax as thick shame enveloped his cracking soul.

 

“All just to fill that void in your soul.  But nothing really works, does it?  Let _me_ help you, Sans,” the child continued.  They began to step toward him, but Sans couldn’t back away.  He was paralyzed, some unseen force holding him in place.

 

“no!  get the fuck away from me, you freak!”

 

The child leered at him eerily, ignoring his command and looming ever closer as they brandished their knife.  Sans needed to figure out a way out of this, how could he get free?  This was so useless, so tiring… 

 

The child raised the knife above their shoulder, ready to strike him down. 

 

Sans relaxed.  It was over.  That’s fine.  He could accept that.  Maybe next time he could save her.  There's always next time.

 

“Say hello to Papyrus for me.”

 

**_9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 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9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9 9_ **

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sans jerked himself awake, sitting up in his bed and gasping for breath as he frantically surveyed his surroundings, half expecting to see his old room, but the cold, steel-colored walls and black L desk in the corner of the darkened room reaffirmed to him that he was still on the surface, still no resets…

 

He bowed his skull into his hands, sighing heavily and rubbing the heels of his boney palms against his dark, empty eye sockets as he tried to calm himself down.  He glanced wearily at the digital clock on his bedside table— two in the morning.

 

Fuck.

 

He had fallen asleep?  The lack of stench on his bones told him that he had taken a shower beforehand, too, and he was all dressed up in his favorite sweatpants and turtleneck.  When did that happen?

 

Sans didn’t even remember when he had even crawled into bed that night.  Insomnia was a bitch if there ever was one.  Of course, it’s not like he even _wanted_ to sleep in the first place— his nightmares were always so goddamned vivid, so _real._  

 

He didn’t want to admit it, but he was absolutely terrified of falling asleep anymore.  He tried to keep himself awake by constantly guzzling coffee or those disgusting sugary energy drinks that he found at every corner store in the city— _anything_ to avoid his restless sleep.  Caffeine had become a major part of his diet next to his beloved mustard after his arrival aboveground.

 

But eventually Sans’s mental and physical exhaustion was just too much.  He often found himself succumbing to the throes of heavy sleep in the middle of whatever he was doing, regardless of the inconvenience of it.  One time he had fallen asleep in the shower only to be scolded awake by a quite enraged Papyrus, citing that he was going to run up the water bill and make all of his bones brittle from the hot water.

 

He, of course, tried to play it off as laziness so that Papyrus wouldn’t worry about him.  If his brother knew, he would probably just tell him that he was a weak monster, or to just suck it up and get over it.  

 

…Which is exactly what Sans needed to do. 

 

He only wished that he could be as strong and courageous as his brother, to be able to handle anything and everything without becoming a nervous, sweaty bag of bones.

 

Papyrus was so cool.

 

A sleepy moan pulled his attention to his left, finding himself startled to see the human fast asleep next to him.  She had curled her arm under her pillow and was lying on her side, facing him with her eyes closed loosely, her mouth slightly open.

 

When did she…?  Oh.  Papyrus had sent her to his shop last night...  But he didn’t remember—

 

She suddenly snorted loudly and scrunched up her face, wriggling her nose and turning over onto her back.  Sans clasped his hands over his mouth to stifle his chortles as she proceeds to splay out next to him, her limbs taking up nearly every free space around her.

 

What a fuckin’ princess.

 

She did that the last time he had spent the night with her a few months ago.  He figured that was just like her—taking what she wanted with no real forethought to the consequences, living in a perpetual state of…  ah, fuck, what did the humans call it?  YOLO?   

 

Fuckin’ weird, if you asked him, but it truly encompassed who she was.  

 

As she settled back into a quiet sleep, Sans watched the way her eyebrows furrowed and relaxed, and began to wonder what she was dreaming about.  Maybe it was him.

 

Sans had really missed her over the past few months, but he had told himself that he needed to break it off with her for her own good.

 

He was a bad influence.

 

He didn’t eat, didn’t sleep (even more so than usual), didn’t really do anything during the first couple of weeks without her.  He felt so lost, so aimless in this disgusting world…

 

He had tried to force himself to be useful and work on his latest project at his shop, and it was starting to work before Papyrus had to go meddling. 

 

He was hoping for a sort of ‘out of sight, out of mind’ approach to her.  If he just cut it off with her, ripped her off of him like a bandage, then everything would go back to normal, back to before he had ever laid eyes on her.

 

…right?

 

Sans reached his hand out carefully to softly stroke her cheek with his knuckle, and her body seemed to ease at his touch.  He only now realized just how much he had truly missed her. 

 

Her skin was always so soft, so different from his own porcelain bones…  He liked that about humans.  And yeah, maybe it was some kind of weird, perverted fetish, but he didn’t care.

 

She made him happy.  That’s all he’d ever wanted in this crazy, fucked up world.

 

Sans laid back on his pillow and moved to spoon her, wrapping his arms under and around her to pull her into his embrace.  She melted into his touch, turning over on her other side and sighing dreamily. 

 

He planted several soft kisses on her shoulder and back, just happy to be with her.  He loved her, after all. 

 

And maybe one day she would love him, too. 

 

Sans soon fell asleep again with his soul thrumming in his ribcage, contented to have his human wrapped up in his arms, holding her close to him like she was the most precious thing in the world. 

  
Because, to him, she was.

 

He slept dreamlessly that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys sooo much for reading! Seriously, I had no idea this little self-indulgent fic would get such a great response. I've got tons more planned for this fic and I really can't wait to show it to you. Thanks for reading, guys!
> 
> Check out my newest oneshot [Baby, It's Cold Outside](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8769280), if you haven't seen it already! It's a Christmas-themed G! Sans noncon fic for [NihilismPastry](http://archiveofourown.org/users/NihilismPastry/pseuds/NihilismPastry). (Read the tags before you read! Take care of yourselves! It's a very rapey fic.)


	22. Happy to See Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is all smut with some fluff. I liked writing this.

Warmth. 

 

Mmmm.

 

Soft, rolling waves of warm, comforting pleasure.

 

…

 

Feels good. 

 

Feels… 

 

Really good.

 

Tender kisses on my shoulder.

 

Boney hand digging in the front of my panties, stroking at my...

 

…

 

Wait, what?

 

I reluctantly crack my eyes open to find myself lying in a bed that isn’t my own.  Someone is embracing me from behind.  

 

Someone boney.

 

“Sans?”

 

“mornin’, sunshine,” comes his soft, silky reply, his hot breath steamy against my ear.  He nuzzles his skull further into my neck, his sharp teeth gently nipping at the exposed skin around my shirt.  “you sleep alright?” 

 

His hand never stops rubbing small circles around my clit, and I can feel my slick coating my bare thighs around my panties.  I must have kicked off my jeans sometime last night, and maybe peeled my bra off, too, since his other arm is curled under my back and groping at my breast, tweaking the nipple roughly under the covers around me.

 

“I—I think so…  Ahhh, fuck, Sans, that feels good,” I sigh heavily into his pillow, pushing my hips back into his pelvis. 

 

“yeah?  thought that maybe you’d appreciate a little tlc after last night.”  His fingers rock back and forth over my swollen labia, and I turn to face him, spreading my legs to give him better access.

 

“What about…  _ahn_ , what about you?  Sleep okay?”  My voice is starting to break.

 

“better than i have all month.”  Sans leans over and teethes at my collarbone.  “you’ve lost some weight since last year, y’know.  don’t remember you bein’ this skinny.”

 

My face flushes even more as I try to hold up the conversation.  “Quit… drinking so much.”

 

“oh?”  Sans stops his ministrations to look at me for an elaboration, much to my dismay. 

 

With a frustrated huff, I grab his arm and tug it further down into my panties.  “I didn’t say you could stop, did I?”

 

A coy grin spreads over his skull as he starts up again without hesitation, rubbing at my clit using three phalanges.  “yes, ma’am.” 

 

I can feel the warmth spreading through my abdomen again, and a chill goes down my spine when Sans starts to grind his pelvis against my ass.

 

“ _Aaahhh_ , fuck.”

 

“gettin’ close, sweetheart?”

 

I nod silently in reply, closing my eyes tight as I try to focus on the pleasure.  I begin to rock my hips into his hand, feeling my orgasm become imminent under his slicked fingers. 

 

I’m this close already?  How long had he been touching me before I finally woke up?

 

“go on.  cum for me.  i love watchin’ ya cum, darlin’.”

 

His voice is husky, yet relaxed.  The acrid smell of cigarette smoke assaults my nose, almost as if he just got done smoking one before crawling back into bed and casually pleasing me in my sleep.

 

Not that I’m one to protest such a lovely way to wake up in the morning.

 

I’m rolling my hips back and forth on his fingers, trying to chase my climax, and God, it’s so good, so close, so close… 

 

Sans nibbles my earlobe between his teeth as I cum, squeezing my thighs around his hand and writhing against him, my moans muffled by taking a huge mouthful of my pillow. 

 

After my climax subsides, I roll over to face him, my cheeks plastered in a pink post-orgasmic blush and my chest heaving from my labored breaths. 

 

“feel good?” he asks me through hooded eye sockets, a sly grin on his face.  His dark circles under his eyes are less pronounced than they were last night, so I’m guessing he finally got some much-needed rest.

 

I can’t think of anything to say in reply, and so I just decide on wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss, crushing my lips against his teeth as my sensitive nerves beg for more stimulation. 

 

I’m so pent up.  I’ve been so angry and sad and worried and now I finally get to—

 

“Just fuck me, Sans.”  My voice is breathy, desperate.

 

“mmmokay,” he mumbles coolly into my mouth, as if my request is a chore for him, his tongue flicking at my teeth playfully.  However, he doesn’t waste any time fumbling with his sweatpants and pulling them off under his sheets, and I follow suit with my soaked panties, tossing them over the side of the bed with abandon. 

 

Before I can wrestle my shirt off, Sans is on top of me with his duvet covering the both of us, shrouding us in its warmth.  His cock glows bright crimson under the dim morning light of his bedroom as he rubs it teasingly along my slicked thighs. 

 

He wordlessly plants his mouth to mine in another hungry kiss, swirling his tongue around inside, practically shoving it down my throat.  I fight it back with my own tongue, just as eager as he is to finally make love after all this time, after so long of wondering what went wrong.

 

I can feel him smiling as he kisses me.

 

His summoned flesh drags across my thigh teasingly as he starts to grind against me, gentle pops of magic rolling over my skin and exciting my sensitive nerves.

 

“You’re such a fuckin’ tease,” I growl at him sarcastically as he nips at my collarbone again, and yet I find myself grinding back against him, trying to angle my hips to catch his tip at my entrance. 

 

“takes one to know one,” he jeers, pulling his cock away just as I feel when the tip had finally dipped inside my more than ready pussy.  I had almost forgotten just how _big_ he was, and I’m starting to wonder if I’m worked up enough to fit it all inside.

 

Oh _fuck_.  Time to find out.

 

I gasp and clutch at his ribs through his turtleneck when I finally feel him shove his cock deep inside me, hilting all the way after just a few more thrusts.  I had forgotten how his fat cock stretches me so deliciously, and my brain is getting hazy with lust as he seats himself entirely inside my little cunt.

 

Honestly, it’s been so long since I’ve fucked anyone…  I really need this.

 

“God, just fuck me already, you fucking _tease_ ,” I whisper hoarsely into his mouth.  I can feel his teeth curl into a wicked smile against my lips before he leans up and away from me. 

 

“so needy,” he purrs seductively, admiring my panting body before letting his gaze trail down to his cock fully sheathed in my cunt.  “did ya really miss my cock _that_ _much?”_

 

“Yes, okay?  Now please,” I beg him, grasping handfuls of his shirt in my hands, trying to pull him deeper inside me, to encourage any kind of friction or movement, _anything._   “Shove your cock inside me until I _beg you_ to fuckin’ stop, Sans.”

 

I thought that would do it, but no.  He just chuckles smoothly, his voice silvery and deep, and moves to swing my leg up and over his shoulder without moving an inch inside me.

 

What a sadistic bastard! 

 

“Sans, come on!” I shout, starting to buck my hips on his cock, the minimal friction just barely enough to tease me.  “What gives?”

 

He begins kissing at my knee as he presses his hand flat against my tummy, holding me still against him.  “can’t i just enjoy this?” he mumbles softly against my leg.  “what makes you think you’re in control here, anyway?”

 

“Oh, so you _don’t_ want to fuck me?”

 

Sans scoffs and rolls his eye lights in his skull, giving my hips a little buck with his pelvis.  It’s not enough to satisfy, but a pathetic little moan escapes my lips regardless.

 

“of course i wanna fuck ya, red.  just gonna take my sweet time with it.  i wanna remember th—”

 

“Sans, please please _pleaaaase_ fuck me!  I want it so bad, I want you _soooo baaaaad, Sansy!”_ I mewl in my best porn star voice, and I finish with my signature _Sexy Lip Bite™._

“dammit red.  why ya gotta be like this?” he asks as he looks up at the ceiling, as if praying to some higher deity for a divine answer to his rhetorical question.   He sighs and looks back down at me, and I try to give him the _Sexy Lip Bite™_ again. 

 

“fine.  fine,” he huffs in defeat, his smile never leaving his skull.  “know what?  ya want it so bad?  _fuckin’ take it, then_.”

 

Sans starts pounding into me relentlessly, and I fall into a small fit of lighthearted chuckles before the pleasure turns them into heady moans.  I find myself trying to hold steady by bracing against his headboard as he uses my outstretched leg to pull my body further onto his cock.  He’s going so hard, so rough, and oh God, yes, yes, yes!

 

“Ahhhhhn!  Sans, yes!  Fuck me, fuck me hard, Sans, ooooh, yes, tear me _up!_ ”

 

“i’d tell ya to shut up, but damn, if i don’t love it when ya scream for me,” he pants through his fervent thrusts.

 

I take his hand that had been steadying himself on my tummy and bring it up to my mouth, sucking in his index phalange into my hot mouth.  My eyes hood as I keep my eyes locked on his own bright eye lights, kissing and sucking his finger sensually.  He slows down his thrusts just a bit as he focuses on the show I’m putting on for him, and he actually begins to move his finger in and out of my mouth, essentially fucking it. 

 

“what did i do to deserve you?” he mumbles wistfully, probably not meaning to say it out loud.

 

His finger slips out from my lips with a loud _pop!_ before I reply, “You keep fucking me like I want to be fucked.”  My voice is husky and hoarse from desire… and the screaming.

 

Sans smiles through his pleasure as he continues pumping his cock inside me, his huge shaft dragging along every inch of my tight walls, the friction and warmth and magic driving me fucking crazy with lust.

 

Thick droplets of sweat bead on his skull as he gasps, “aaaah, _fuck,_ red, you’re just so fuckin’ _tight_.  ya feel so damn good on my cock.”

 

“And you’re so fuckin’ _biiiig!_   Oh, God, Sans, yes!  Please fuck my tight little pussy, harder, _please!”_

Sans pulls my other leg over his shoulder to get into a better position, and I try to grind my hips against him in need, need for his fat cock to keep pumping inside me, but I just end up throwing his rhythm off. 

 

“jesus, red, what’s gotten into you?” he pants, the smallest tinge of concern coating his tone as he tries to steady my hips.  “are ya always this horny in the morning or are ya just happy to see me?”

 

I choose to ignore his stupid facetiousness, whimpering like a bitch in heat as I continue to try to fuck myself on his cock.  Please please please, Sans, just give me this, I want it so bad…

 

“hold still!” he chuckles softly, falling down on top of me with his hands on either side of my shoulders, my legs wrapping around his spine as he covers my neck in kisses.  “just lemme fuck ya, for chris’ sakes.  you’re bein’—“

 

“SANS!  DID YOU FALL BACK ASL—OH, GOOD!  YOU’RE BOTH AWAKE!”

 

“P-Papyrus?!” I squeal in surprise because yes, none other than the Great and Terrible Papyrus has poked his skull past Sans’s bedroom door.  I scramble under Sans to try to get out of this compromising position, but Sans holds his ground— _his dick is still inside me._

Thank God Sans still has the both of us covered with his duvet, otherwise I don’t think I could look at Papyrus the same way after letting him get a wide-open view of my legs spread for his brother.

 

“oh, hey bro,” Sans replies nonchalantly, even though he never stops his thrusts as he continues his conversation with his brother.  “yeah, just getting in some _physical activity_ for the morning.”  He thrusts into me rather roughly on his last word, forcing me to cry out from the pleasure. 

  
  
_“Sans!”_   I holler at him indignantly as I pound my fist on his sternum, giving him the dirtiest scowl I can possibly manage despite my glazed-over look.

 

“heh heh.  what?  you said not to stop fuckin’ ya.”

 

“DON’T BE VULGAR, SANS,” Papyrus grimaces.  “I JUST WANTED TO LET YOU AND YOUR GUEST KNOW THAT BREAKFAST WILL BE READY IN APPROXIMATELY TEN MINUTES, THOUGH I WILL SEE _YOU_ IN _NINE_ MINUTES.”  Papyrus then glares at Sans with his own death stare, some sort of secret code among siblings probably meaning that Sans is in trouble, before slamming the door shut behind him as he retreats.  

 

“Asshole,” I growl as I shove my palm into Sans’s face.

 

“kinky,” he sneers, sticking his tongue out to lick my hand, forcing me to pull it away in revulsion.  “maybe next time though,” he finishes with a wink.

 

“You’re disgusting.”  I wipe my magic-covered hand on his shirt, but I can’t help the stupid grin on my face.

 

“you like it, though,” he chuckles, leaning down to drag his tongue along my neck to drive home his point.  The slick feeling of his magic sends a chill down my spine and forces goosebumps to pimple along my skin.  

 

He’s right.   

 

“was just following directions anyways,” he continues, rolling his shoulder in a facetiously innocent little shrug, still giving slow, languid pumps inside me.  “you didn’t beg me to stop.”

 

“Didn’t think you were one to follow directions.”

 

“heh.  only for you, sweetheart.  i love y—”

 

I’m quick to cover his mouth with my hand, leaving him staring at me nervously. 

 

“I know, Sans.  Let’s just…”

 

…I don’t know.

 

The following silence between us is unsettling, to say the least, and I can’t help but turn away from him, avoiding his apprehensive gaze. 

 

Sans exhales through his nose as he pulls his own hand to mine covering his mouth.  He’s careful, slow, endearing in his action.  He presses a tender kiss to the inside of my hand, closing his eye sockets to relish the moment.

 

He opens them slowly, and his expression reads understanding, compassionate.  He nods once, firm and resolute.

 

And he leans down to pull me into a kiss, more passionate and adoring than anything I’ve ever felt before.  His tongue is warm and soft as it runs along the roof of my mouth, taking my own tongue in its warm embrace and swirling red pops of magic around it. 

 

I pull him closer to me, digging my fingertips into his scapulae under his shirt and wrapping my legs around the base of his spine.  The new angle allows him to penetrate me deeply as he begins long, determined thrusts inside me.  He’s not being gentle, but it’s not as hard as he was before. 

 

“Oh, Sans,” I moan against his teeth.  The room fills with the sounds of our heavy breathing and desperate kisses, sucking in each other’s exhalations and making my head fuzzy with lust.

 

“Yes, yes, deeper…”  My words are spoken so softly, they’re barely above a whisper.

 

He stuffs his cock as deep inside me as it will go with each thrust, the tip pressing against my cervix almost painfully.  Almost.

 

The closeness of our bodies, the warmth under his duvet, his heated kisses…  It’s all flooding my nerves, all driving me close to my next climax.

 

“Sans…  I’m…”

 

“shhh,” he tells me before planting his mouth to mine in another kiss.  His pumps get rougher, more erratic as he works himself up to his own orgasm, and he begins teething at my neck and shoulder. 

 

He always liked biting.  I never thought I would like it this much, myself.

 

I can feel my pussy tightening up as I get closer, hugging his dick as it slides inside me, the red magic boiling hot as he gets closer.  Sans is breathing heavily into my shoulder, his bones glowing a soft red hue, racked with his pleasure. 

 

Did they always do that?  If they have, I’ve never noticed before now.

 

And finally I feel as he releases his hot spunk inside me after a hard thrust, burying himself inside to spew it all deep within me with a low groan.  I’m not far behind him, the feeling of his burning magic overflowing in my little cunt enough to push me over the edge.  My back arches up into him, my head flushes with white-hot pleasure, and I’m vaguely aware of his name escaping my lips.

 

We stay locked together for a few moments, allowing our breathing to return to normal before Sans rolls off of me, lying on his back next to me.  He grabs my hand in his and squeezes it tightly, raising his other forearm to rest on his skull as he looks up at the ceiling.

 

“you gotta work today?” he asks after a bit.

 

“It’s Saturday.”

 

Sans grins and squeezes my hand again, rubbing his thumb over the back of it soothingly.

 

After another couple of moments lying together in wistful silence, enjoying our afterglow, a loud clatter echoes past his bedroom door followed by an even louder _“MOTHER FUCKER!”_

 

“ahhh, shit,” Sans curses under his breath, throwing his arm down to his side.  He pats my stomach a couple times before sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of his bed.  “better go see what he’s doin’ before he sets the kitchen on fire again.”  He stands up to pull his sweatpants back on, jumping into them as I sit up on my elbows to watch.

 

“’ _Again_ ’?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow in bemusement.  There _has_ to be a story behind that.

 

Sans chuckles as he presses his knee into the bed to peck my forehead with his teeth.  “don’t ask, red.  long story.”

 

He pulls away almost reluctantly and heads out his bedroom door, but catches his phalanges around the wooden frame to poke his head back into the room. 

 

“breakfast.  don’t fall back asleep.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” I groan, scrubbing my hands into my eyes.  “Let me wake up a little bit first.”

 

He just beams at me in reply, tapping his hand against the door frame a couple of times before walking off down the hall.

 

I stretch out my limbs and twist around in his bed, feeling the mixture of his magic and my own slick coating my thighs. 

 

Mmm.  What a nice way to wake up.  Now where are my pants…?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos, and bookmarks are always appreciated! Thanks for reading, as always.
> 
> Check out my [NSFW tumblr blog](http://whoawickedsins.tumblr.com) filled with juicy skeleton smut! 
> 
> Or my [SFW (mostly) main blog](http://whoawicked.tumblr.com) with other silly things.


	23. Kicking and Screaming

“YOU UNGRATEFUL LITTLE _GREMLIN!”_

 

Uh.  Well.  This can’t be good.

 

“boss, i ain’t fuckin’ h— _erk!_ ”

 

Turning the corner down their hallway, I’m greeted with quite the sight in the kitchen _chez_ skeleton brothers.

 

Papyrus is sporting a splattered white apron around his lithe form as he stands next to their kitchen table, forcing a spoon into Sans’s mouth.  Sans, the poor soul, has his hands tied behind his back around the kitchen chair.

 

“YOU WILL _EAT_ THE FOOD I HAVE SO GRACIOUSLY PREPARED FOR YOU, OR SO HELP ME I’LL—“

 

“Uh.  Am I interrupting something?”

 

Sans and Papyrus both turn their heads to look at me, Sans’s mouth still stuffed with the spoon.

 

Papyrus speaks first, a genuine smile curling on his pointed teeth.  “GOOD MORNING, TINY HUMAN!  I’VE MADE ASSORTED BREAKFAST ITEMS FOR US ALL,” he boasts, sweeping his arm to motion to the plethora of food setting their kitchen table.  “I WASN’T ENTIRELY SURE OF WHAT YOU WOULD LIKE FOR BREAKFAST, BUT HOPEFULLY YOU WILL ENJOY AT LEAST ONE THING I’VE PREPARED.”

 

I can see that Sans is currently ‘sampling’ some of the creamy scrambled eggs in the pan next to Papyrus, and next to that is…

 

…Holy _shit_.

 

Th-There’s plates of bacon _and_ sausage, and—no no, _two_ varieties of sausage—and some fried eggs, too, and toast and pancakes with— chocolate chips?  There’s some crêpes with strawberry jam and roasted seasoned potatoes and a giant dish of freshly cut fruit, a-and there’s a plate of poached eggs sitting on top of ham and a muffin and drizzled in this thick and unctuous hollandaise sauce, and next to it is a bed of fresh wilted spinach and—

 

I suddenly find myself standing next to the table of food, my eyes like saucers as I survey the veritable feast before me. 

 

“I-Is that… eggs Benedict?”

 

“WHY, YES, HUMAN!  ONE OF MY FAVORITE DISHES TO PREPARE SINCE ATTENDING CULINARY SCHOOL.”

 

My ass finds a seat next to Sans at their table as I just take the entire plate and place it in front of me, ignoring him and stealing the fork and knife from his place setting. 

 

God, this looks amazing.

 

“Culinary school?” I ask absentmindedly, tearing into the poached egg with my knife, watching the runny yolk ooze from the cut and onto the muffin.  It’s perfect.

 

“INDEED!  I AM IN THE PROCESS OF BECOMING A CLASSICALLY TRAINED CHEF, AS WELL AS LEARNING EXTENSIVE FOOD HISTORY.  DID YOU KNOW THAT THE DISH WAS NAMED AFTER A TRAITOR TO YOUR KINGDOM?” Papyrus ponders out loud as he scoops another spoonful of eggs into Sans’s mouth.

 

“ _mmmf!”_

 

“Mmm.”  This is delicious.  Papyrus would probably give Muffet a run for her money.  Is that why he’s banned from her restaurant?

 

“IT’S TRUE!  HUMANS ARE SO PECULIAR.  WHERE WE COME FROM, TRAITORS ARE BOUND AND GAGGED WITH THEIR OWN SOILED UNDERGARMENTS AND THEN FORCED TO—“

 

“ _boss!”_ Sans chokes out after swallowing his portion of eggs.

“YES, WHAT IS IT, SANS?”

 

“i told ya i’ll fuckin’ eat, okay?  just untie me, for christ sakes.”

 

Papyrus narrows his eyesockets at his brother before grunting, reluctantly walking behind him to untie him from the chair.

 

“YOUR HUMAN SEEMS TO LIKE MY COOKING WELL ENOUGH,” he reprises as he pulls away the butcher’s twine from his brother’s wrists. 

 

“Yeah!  This is amazing!  Best eggs Bennie I’ve ever had.” 

 

“THANK YOU!  SANS ACTUALLY HELPED ME TO PERFECT MY HOLLANDAISE SAUCE.  WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW THE SECRET INGREDIENT?”

 

“I can probably guess,” I choke through a snort.

 

Both brothers answer in unison, but with differing degrees of enthusiasm.

 

“IT’S MUSTARD!”

 

“it’s mustard.”

 

Saw that coming from a mile away.

 

Sans rubs at his wrists before reaching for his porcelain mug of coffee, and Papyrus looks so elated to have given out his secret to the best hollandaise sauce ever fabricated. 

 

Sans smiles as he watches me eat his brother’s cooking, his eye sockets giving away his shit-eating grin of his as he dips his nasal cavity into the steamy mug.  The words “FUCK OFF” are plastered on the side. 

 

“I DON’T KNOW WHY YOU INSIST ON KICKING AND SCREAMING WHEN I TRY TO MAKE SURE YOU’RE WELL-NOURISHED,” Papyrus continues, turning to Sans. 

 

Ah.  So Sans has literally just been eating ramen and energy bars for weeks now?  That’s not healthy, regardless of his species.  And it seems like he’s one of those people that drinks shit tons of coffee…  Jesus.  No wonder he has bags under his eyes, he hasn’t been fucking sleeping. 

 

“HUMAN!”

 

“Mmmf?”  Papyrus has caught me in the middle of huge bite of Benedict.

 

“DID HE EAT THE APOLOGY SPAGHETTI THAT I HAD PREPARED FOR YOU YESTERDAY EVENING?”

 

Gulp. 

 

“Uuuuh.” 

 

Shit, I sound so fucking guilty.

 

I panic and glance over at Sans, who nods at me reassuringly while his brother’s gaze it still trained on me.  He wants me to lie?

 

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” Papyrus shouts accusingly, banging his fist on the table before pointing at me.  “I CAN TELL WHEN HUMANS LIE.  THEY SMELL LIKE SALT.”

 

“What the hell does that fucking me—”

 

“o-of course i ate it, paps!” Sans blurts rapidly, his forehead coated in sweat.  “love yer cookin’, as always.”

 

Papyrus was about to say something before the oven chimed, signifying that something needed to be checked. 

 

He’s…  He’s making even _more_ food?

 

“OH!  MY CINNAMON ROLLS ARE DONE!” he beamed before running off to the oven. 

 

Sans smiles nervously at me.  “just _roll_ with it, heh heh.  h-he gets worried ‘bout me, y’know?  he’s very…”

 

“Eccentric?” I finish for him, using my fork to stab a sausage link and bring it over to my plate.

 

“that’s a good word for it.”  He sips his coffee again, curling his phalanges around the warm mug and relishing in the heat on his bones.  He’s so cute.

 

I chuckle softly, swinging my legs in my chair as I chew on my breakfast and watch Papyrus apply some oven mitts to his hands.  They have flowers on them.

 

“A chef, huh?” I muse out loud.

 

“yep.”  Sip.

 

“What made him decide to pursue a life in the kitchen after coming topside?”

 

Sans shrugs, holding his mug in one hand and pinching a couple of strips of bacon between the fingers of his other and holding them up to his mouth.  “he liked it beforehand, but never really had the proper training.”  He then crams the bacon into his maw before continuing, “’e’s goin’ ta tha’ school upstate, the pishy poshy institu’ fer culinary advancemen’, or whateva’.  ‘e loves it.”

 

Quick sip of coffee to wash it down.

 

Oh, my God.  That place is one of the best culinary schools in the fucking country, and with it comes one of the heftiest price tags.  I wonder if Sans is paying for it? 

 

I mean, who am I kidding? _Probably_.  He seems to really care about his brother, and paying his way through culinary school to do something he loves is such an endearing gesture.

 

My gaze turns to Papyrus, who has started humming a famous tune as he drizzles cream cheese frosting over the cinnamon rolls, spreading it with a long flat spatula and letting it drape over the still-warm spirals. 

 

…Those are fucking huge cinnamon rolls.  They’re like double the size of my fist.  _Hnnnggg_.

 

“hey.  that mine?” 

 

Sans’s voice pulls me away from watching his brother and his food porn.

 

I look down at my shirt for a brief moment before realizing to what he was referring.  I had snooped through some drawers in his room to find something else to wear to breakfast, so I settled on one of his black t-shirts.  It was a little big on me, the neck drooping just the slightest to expose my shoulder and the bottom hem going to my mid-thigh.

 

“Oh!  Yeah, I hope you don’t mind,” I chuckle somewhat nervously.  “My other shirt got all sweaty and gross when we…”  I trail off as Papyrus makes his way over to us with a plate of his cinnamon rolls.  

 

I decide to clear my throat instead of continuing.  “Well, you know.”

 

Sans leans in close to peck my cheek.  “looks cute on you, babydoll.”

 

“Everything looks cute on me,” I quip.  God, that just sounds so conceited.

 

“i see you haven’t changed a bit, red,” Sans chuckles in reply, bringing a sausage link to his mouth before taking a large chomp out of it.

 

Maybe I am conceited.

 

“OH!  BEFORE I FORGET, SANS, ALPHYS CALLED FOR YOU LAST NIGHT.”  Papyrus finally seats himself across from me, very politely shaking his napkin open and laying it on his lap.  “SHE SAID IT WAS VERY URGENT.”

 

Sans seems thoroughly surprised, and maybe even a bit nervous.  The way he sweats gives him away.  So gross. 

 

Why is he attractive, again? 

 

“uh...  okay.”  He turns to me and gives me another quick peck on the cheek as he gets up from his chair, and I feel my heart flutter.

 

Oh yeah, that’s why. 

 

“i’ll be right back, okay?  gotta see what she wants.”

 

“ _She?”_ I blurt before I can even register the boiling possessiveness in my veins, clenching my knife in my fist.

 

Sans looks down at me with a cocky grin, his eyelights twinkling with mischief.  God, I hate that look he gives me, when he just _knows_ something I don’t. 

 

“heh heh...  don’t tell me you’re a li’l _jealous_ , hmm?” he sing-songs at me, his golden tooth glinting in the morning light.

 

I don’t even dignify him with a response, instead deciding to remain silent and quietly stewing in my jealousy as I use my death grip on my knife to tear away at another bite of my delicious breakfast.

 

“she’s just a buddy,” he assures me lightheartedly, grabbing one of his ratty jackets that had been hanging on the back of a chair and pulling his arms through the sleeves.  “the one i mentioned from the capital, y’know?  b’sides.” 

 

He pauses for dramatic effect as he shrugs the rest of his jacket onto his form. 

 

“ain’t really her type.”  He flips the collar up around his neck and winks at me. 

 

What a fucking _ham._   But what exactly does that even mean?

 

Papyrus audibly rolls his eyelights in his sockets as Sans walks over to their balcony, snickering like an idiot and mumbling giddily to himself as he pulls the door to the side and slides it shut behind him.  I watch through the glass door as he reaches in his pockets for his pack of smokes and his cell phone. 

 

I return my attention back to my breakfast, thoroughly enjoying my eggs Benedict…

 

…

 

…Until I can feel Papyrus’s intent gaze trained directly on me.  His teeth have curled into a subtle smile, much less shit-eating than his brother’s.

 

What’s up with him?  Do I have something on my face?

 

_“…What?”_

 

“NOTHING,” he chirps in reply, folding his hands under his chin as he continues looking at me.  “I’M JUST HAPPY.”

 

“Happy?”

  
  
“YES.”

 

Jesus, what’s with these guys?  Getting them to talk is like trying to pull teeth.

 

“… _About?”_

 

He turns his back to look at Sans through the balcony door, who has sat down on one of their deck chairs with a cigarette hanging from his teeth, his cell phone pressed to his skull. 

 

“YOU CAN’T SEE IT?”

 

I follow his gaze, unsure of what he’s talking about.

  
  
“…See _what?”_

 

“SANS,” he states matter-of-factly, a thin layer of lighthearted joy coating his usually harsh tone.  “HE’S HAPPY.  AND SEEING HIM HAPPY MAKES ME HAPPY, TOO.”

 

He turns around to grab the carafe of orange juice that’s sitting on the table, pouring himself a tall glass of the tart, pulpy liquid and taking a long gulp.

 

Hm.  That’s actually kind of sweet.  What a lovely bond these brothers sha—

 

“AND OF COURSE I WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT IF YOU EVER DO ANYTHING TO HURT HIM EMOTIONALLY I WILL RETURN THAT AGONY AND DESPAIR TENFOLD _PHYSICALLY_.”

 

I feel the next bite of my eggs Benedict getting caught in my throat and I begin to choke a little, grasping at my neck and coughing and sputtering and desperately reaching for the glass of ice water next to my plate and taking large, raspy gulps, trying to regain my composure.

 

Oh, God, just what the hell have I gotten myself into?

 

“I HOPE WE ARE CLEAR IN THIS MATTER, TINY HUMAN,” he beams at me, content as can fucking be.

 

 _Fuck._   What a fucking _psycho._   I thought the _older_ brother was supposed to be protective!

Sans chooses this precise awkward silence to return from the porch, his arms huddled around his form and his teeth chattering together as he yelps, “fuck!  it’s fuckin’ _cold_ as _shit._ ”

 

The cold air wafts over to the kitchen table as he walks inside, the faint stench of cigarettes lingering in the room.  It’s at this moment that I notice he’s wearing pink fuzzy slippers. 

 

What the hell is he doing?  This guy’s cock has been inside me.

 

I look at the food on the table.

 

What am I doing?  Just playing house with this guy?  Having breakfast after a cozy night cuddling together?  _Morning sex?_

What we’re doing is something that a married couple would do.

 

I’m not—

 

“I have to go.”

 

It’s short and to the point, said before Sans can settle himself down in his seat again.  I’m already up and hurrying to his bedroom to grab my clothes. 

 

Sans is not far behind me, calling my name in one of those ‘haha, that’s funny, but you can quit joking now’ tones. 

 

Where the hell did my pants go?  Here’s my shirt, my bra—

 

“hey.  did i say somethin’?  why ya leavin’ so soon?”  Sans’s voice is nervous, apprehensive, as he leans against his doorway, watching me pull his shirt off and toss it to the floor.

 

“I just remembered I have stuff to do today,” I lie, clasping my bra behind my back and running the straps up and over my shoulders. 

 

I just have to get out of here before this moves too fast.

 

“yer not gonna stick around?”

 

I’m turning my shirt right side-out when I see the cuff of my jeans poking out from under his bed. 

 

“cuz i was thinkin’ that maybe we could hit up ‘nother movie, or—“

 

“Sorry, Sans,” I fake-apologize as I throw one leg into my jeans and then the other, hopping into the tight fabric as gracefully as possible.  “Not today.  Maybe some other time, okay?”

 

Sans’s gruff exterior pokes through his sweaty anxiety.  “yeah, yeah, iz whatevuh, yanno?  jus’ thought maybe a sexy broad like you wouldn’t mind bein’ wined and dined a little more before she let me plow the back fields, heh heh.”

 

How crass.

 

I try to hide the roll of my eyes as I bring my shirt over my head, poking my arms through the holes and looking around for my jacket. 

 

My lack of response plants itself in the room between us, and Sans is left mentally twiddling his thumbs, trying to think of something to make me stay, no doubt.

 

I think I’ve grabbed all of my belongings, my many mornings-after of one night stands being plenty of practice to never forget anything, and try to walk past Sans. 

 

But the son of a bitch stops me, holding his body in front of the doorway and slamming his hand above my shoulder, blocking my way.

 

“Sans, please move.”

 

I sound exasperated.

 

“listen.  red.”

 

He sounds exasperated, too. 

 

“ya might still be mad at me, and that’s cool.  i get it.  i’d be mad at me, too, but my buddy—from the capital— she needs me there this weekend.  i wanted ta know if ya’d go with me.  there’s—“

 

“I’m not gonna be a part of one of your weird threesome fantasies.”

 

“shut the fuck up and _listen_ to me!” he shouts, pounding his fist on the wall. 

 

A quiet moment of intense eye contact follows his outburst.

 

He takes a moment to regain his composure before continuing.

 

“look,” he continues calmly.  “there’s gonna be a big party ‘n’ everything, and it would be real sweet if you would be there so i wouldn’t be bored as fuck.  bunch of nerds all in one place, tryin’ ta chat me up about my latest project or whatever.  ain’t my scene.  i really didn’t wanna go, but she called in a favor.  jus’ think about it, arright?  let me know.”

 

He lifts his arm from the wall, letting it fall to his side as he holds my gaze. 

 

“I’ll think about it.”

 

I’m quick to haul my purse over my shoulder and run away from the situation, grabbing my coat from the coat rack near the door.  I thank Papyrus for breakfast as he washes the dishes and tell him that I’ll see him later with a fake smile.

 

“YOU’RE WELCOME, TINY HUMAN!  PLEASE FEEL FREE TO STOP BY ANYTIME IF YOU WANT TO LEARN MY CULINARY SECRETS TO SUCCESS!”

 

He’s gripping that knife way too hard.  Is that a flash of red in his eye socket?

 

I try not to slam their front door shut behind me.

 

I pull out my phone as I wait for the elevator at the end of the hall, using the voice command function since my hands are shaking too fucking bad to type.

 

“Search for ‘Saturday drink specials near me.’”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. Sorry I haven't been very active. I've had a ton of things going on in my life, but this story is always on my mind and I hope to finish it eventually. (Not for a while though.)
> 
> Keep your peepers peeled for something I have in the works for the [Valentine's Day 2017 Undertale Collection](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/UndertaleValentinesDay2017CollectionChallenge)!
> 
> Thanks for reading. I love you guys. <3


	24. Self-Destructive

It was weird to drink again for the first time in a while.  My liver had a chance to rest during my alcohol hiatus, but it picked up right where we left off together— just like old friends.

 

Apparently the divey bar around the corner had two-dollar vodka tonics.  Walking into the Chipper Pig, I was assaulted with a decade’s worth of cigarette smoke and some weird looks from the regular patrons, but nothing too off-putting.  I quickly fell back into old habits as I took up a stool on the bar and told the bartender what I wanted.

 

And as I sat there squeezing my lime wedge into my vodka tonic, I couldn’t help but feel the undulating gazes from people and monsters alike crawling on my back. 

 

Drinking alone is…  It makes you look… hm. 

 

Let me put it this way— when you see someone sitting alone at the bar, hunched over with their fingers grasping at their drink, you can’t help but feel sorry for the poor soul.  You think that their wife left them, or that they found out that their husband cheated on them, or maybe they got fired from their job of thirty years and they’re having their last drink before having to apply for unemployment funds from the government. 

 

Not to mention that it was barely eleven in the morning.

 

But I’m not a poor soul!  No one should pity me, despite being slumped over with my fingernails tip-tapping on the glass of my drink as I thumbed at the social media on my phone.

 

So what if I want to drink alone on a Saturday morning?  I just happen to need a drink.  After all, a skeleton monster is in lov—

 

And after a large gulp from my vodka tonic, I decide to finish the thought.

 

A skeleton monster is _in love with me._

 

And, I mean, that’s not bad, but it’s not good, either.

 

I just don’t know how to feel about it.  It’s…  Complicated, to say the least.

 

And after eight more of those cheap vodka tonics over the course of five hours, I was thoroughly toasted—enough to forget my complicated situation for the time being. 

 

The bartender cuts me off after I started putting the lime wedge from my drink over my teeth and made weird faces at people.  He tells me to settle my tab and leave, and despite my girlish scoff, I dig into my purse to throw some cash at him and leave in an indignant huff.

 

I have more booze _chez moi_ , anyways!

 

And so I stumble into my apartment at half past four in the afternoon and make a beeline for my wine rack, which is surprisingly full of many tantalizing choices. 

 

_Ah, yes, I do believe I will sample the chianti this evening._

 

Pfft.  Like I’m going to _actually_ savor the taste even the slightest bit as it washes down my gullet.

 

And after plucking the biggest balloon glass from my cupboard and wrestling with the corkscrew a bit, that satisfying _pop!_ echoes through my apartment foyer when I finally pull the cork from the bottleneck. 

 

Watching the warm crimson liquid pour into the glass faintly reminds me of blood.  Freaky.

 

My mind drifted back to the wine-tasting class I had taken a couple of years ago, and so I stopped pouring after just enough coats the bottom of the glass and I give it a couple of swirls just like they taught me.

 

I hold it up to the light and _hm, yes, what a lovely color_.

 

And I stick my nose into the glass and take a big whiff, the tannins and other fruity notes blooming in my olfactory senses.

 

But fuck if I care! 

 

The glass makes a gentle _tink!_ as it bumps into my teeth when I raise the glass to my mouth, but the wine goes so smoothly down my throat and it tastes almost like grape juice compared to the cheap vodka I’ve been drinking all day.

 

I down the splash of wine in one gulp, quickly returning to the bottle to pour myself a full glass (which ended up being half the bottle, but it still fit in a glass!).

 

And I wrap my lips around the thin glass lip of the goblet once again and tip my head back and the chianti gushes down my gullet so beautifully, and it’s wondrous good and I can’t stop gulping it down and before I know it I’m pouring even more into my glass to top it off.

 

I feel so woozy and dizzy and my limbs feel heavy but this wine tastes soooooo good.

 

And when I gasp for breath and smack my lips as I set my drink down, I’m left staring out my balcony windows. 

 

And who else is having a smoke break across the street but none other than Sans the mother fucking skeleton.

 

He hasn’t seemed to notice me yet, his face awash with the dull light of the setting sun behind the overcast sky, and his attention seems to be focused on his phone as he huddles for warmth in his favorite chair on his terrace.  A half-smoked cigarette hangs from between his serrated teeth and I feel the overwhelming desire to run my tongue all along them.

 

I guess it’s pretty obvious that I’m a horny drunk.

 

He’s bouncing his leg nervously as he reads whatever is on his screen.  What does he look at on his phone all the time, anyways?

 

I cup my glass in my palm, the stem hanging between my middle and ring finger as I carry it over to stand near the window, slightly swaying to and fro with how plastered I am at the moment.  I wave at him to get his attention, but he doesn’t notice.

 

And then I get this great idea in my head.  Hoo boy, do I get this—this fantastic idea. 

 

This wicked grins curls itself on my lips as the thought races through my mind, and I hope that Sans has finally noticed me, but no, he’s still distracted.

 

“Saaans,” I drawl with a pout, putting my hand on my hip and not really noticing the way my wine sloshes around in the glass, dangerously close to spilling out on the floor.  My drunk ass is too dumb to realize that saying his name isn’t going to make him look up at me.

 

But Sans’s skull flicks up from his phone and our gazes meet, those fiery red eyes of his burning into my soul for a brief moment before returning to the usual white pinpricks.  In fact, it’s almost as if he actually _did_ hear me.

 

Sans smirks at me, taking another drag on his cigarette and looking oh-so smug to see me as he flicks the ashes off it. 

 

We both take a moment to regard each other with our knowing smirks, and I hold my glass up to him in a pseudo toast.  He doesn’t really seem too pleased to see me drinking, but he pushes two of his boney fingers away from his forehead as a sort of salutation. 

 

And my eyes narrow behind my full eyelashes and I lift my glass further above my head and _oops_ , it’s tilting towards me and _oooohhh noooo_ , it’s spilling _all over_ my chest! 

 

The wine overflows between my cleavage and down my chest, and I can feel the cool red-violet liquid soak all the way through my top and bra, and I remark to myself that I probably smell just like an Italian winery.  It drips down to my pants and splatters onto my kitchen floor, soaking into my socks.

 

Sans makes a puzzled face across the way, still not entirely sure what he’s looking at.  Probably thinkin’ _oh that pesky red, gettin’ drunk and spillin’ things all over herself.  what a silly human!  but good golly gosh do i  l o v e  h e r regardless._

 

Sans rolls his eyes like that’s exactly what he’s thinking, and he moves to get up, no doubt coming over check up on me, but I quickly set my glass down and pantomime ‘Oooh, no!  Look at this terrible mess I’ve made!’ with a fake surprised expression, my lips forming a perfect ‘o’ shape. 

 

I’m really hamming it up for him, and he seems to take notice, sitting back down in his chair and cocking his brow bone in curiosity.

 

I shake my head in exaggerated disdain, and then a stupid grin curls itself on my lips and I shrug my shoulders in a ‘well, only one thing to do now!’ kind of way.

 

And I start tugging at the dripping hem of my shirt, feeling the way the wet cotton sticks slightly to my tummy, and from the way that Sans’s eyes light up it’s quite apparent that he immediately realizes what’s going on. 

 

I shuffle slightly from side to side, moving to some unheard tune that’s only playing in my head, swaying my hips seductively.

 

Or at least I think it’s seductive.  When you’re this drunk, you never really can tell.

 

Sans seems to be reacting positively, though, and I watch as he looks left and right around him to make sure no one else is watching. 

 

…I probably should have done that first, in retrospect, but I’ve come too far to stop now.  And Sans looks to be quite pleased that no one else is around to watch me strip in front of my windows, so it’s all working out for the best.

 

He settles back into his chair and leans back with his fingers laced behind his skull, and that shit-eating grin of his only makes me want to ride his face.

 

He’s so disgusting and yet so hot all at the same time.  What the hell is wrong with me?

 

He sucks a deep breath on his fag as he twirls his finger around in the air a couple of times, and I take that to mean that he wants to me to turn around for him.

 

What a fucking pervert.

 

But I happily indulge his voyeuristic tendencies, slowly spinning around in my wet socks and lingering with my back to him, slooowly sliding my hands down my sides and hooking them into my back pockets. 

 

I then reach my hands around to my front to unbutton my jeans, struggling to thumb the button through the loop for a brief moment, and pull the zipper down before bending over for him.  I start wiggling my hips as I start to work my jeans off and around my ass, teasing him by pulling them back up juuust as I get close to revealing my butt.

 

But eventually I get kind of impatient myself, because, you know, wet clothes can chafe and wet jeans are heavy.

 

This may not have been the best idea out there, but I’ve come too far— might as well see this through.

 

So I lock my knees straight and peel my jeans off from my ass to reveal whatever lacy panties I happen to be wearing.  I try not to lose my balance as I finish removing them, and I’m vaguely aware of losing my socks when I finally tug them off, tossing them over one of my kitchen chairs.

 

And when I turn around to look at Sans’s face across the way, I’m half expecting him to howl like a cartoon wolf. 

 

He lasciviously runs his tongue over his sharp teeth as his gaze meets mine once again, leaving a thick trail of his saliva over them with his eyes turned to little white hearts in his sockets.  The drool has started running down his jaw and onto his lap, and it’s then that I realize that he’s palming at the glowing red erection in his track pants.

 

L-Lewd.

 

I bite my lip and try to keep my head from swimming too much as I finger at the hem of my shirt again, lifting and lowering the wet fabric teasingly, just barely exposing more and more skin as I watch Sans watch me with his tongue lolling out of his mouth. 

 

I want to suck on that tongue of his sooo bad.  I hope he comes over after this.

 

I cock my head to the side as I ask him in a deep and sultry voice, “Do you want me to take it off?”

 

And even though he can’t hear me, he must have read my lips because he starts nodding eagerly, and I think I can make out the word “please” forming on his mouth.

 

And so I smile and finally pull my top off, swinging it around it the air a couple of times before letting it fly off somewhere in my kitchen. 

 

I grope my breasts firmly through the black bra I’m wearing, biting my bottom lip again and giving him the best “fuck me” look I can muster.  He grins a Cheshire grin, and God, I just want to flick my tongue all over his fucking teeth. 

 

I let my hand slowly work its way behind my back, feeling for the clasp of my bra and I move to widen my stance for more stability and—

 

Oh, fuck.

 

And suddenly my foot slips on that stupid puddle of wine on the floor and my legs are falling out from underneath me and I can feel gravity, my old nemesis, win another battle as I’m falling down and—

 

“gotchya!”

 

I’m enveloped in the familiar scent of stale cigarettes and anxiety and I realize that Sans has done that teleportation thing, scooping me up in his arms and saving me from a certain concussion.

 

“jesus, fuck,” he scolds me, “why can’t you—“

 

_Oh God._

 

“Sans, I’m gonna hurl.”

 

Sans goes mute and he sets me down quickly with widened eye sockets, cautiously holding his hands up like he’s come into contact with a rabid dog.  

 

I can feel that burning bile swelling at the base of my esophagus and I clamp my hand to my mouth and I’m vaguely aware of my legs picking up and I’m running to my bathroom and oh, God, I hope I make it.

 

I collapse to the cold floor before the porcelain throne, my bare knees hurting from the hard tiles, and my hair splays around my face and suddenly I’m throwing up the contents of my stomach, all of it tainted purple from the wine I so- _intelligently_ drank, and oh, God, _why_ did I have to order those stupid greasy onion rings and bacon-cheese fries—

 

I’m choking and sputtering as my hands grip at the base of my toilet, and regret is flooding my brain and—

 

Regret.  Sour, remorseful regret.

 

I feel that nauseous feeling subside for a moment, and I have a chance to take a gasping breath and…

 

…What is wrong with me?

 

And oh, God, I’m crying.  Warm tears.  Hot shame.

 

I can vaguely feel a presence behind me, and a gentle hand gathers up my hair and pulls it behind my head, holding it back for me.

 

“S-Sans, I—“

 

Another heave and more contents of my stomach are released into the toilet, and God, it looks so disgusting.

 

He just shushes me, and I expect him to be rolling his eyes and he should just leave me, I’m such a train wreck, why is he here, why why why why—

 

I heave again but it’s dry, only coughing up some purple bile, the majority of my stomach already empty. 

 

I’m so disgusting, so gross, so sick and twisted and what the hell is wrong with me and—

 

“can you hold your hair up like this?” Sans asks me, his velvety deep voice so quiet, so smooth.  So weirdly calm given the circumstances.

 

I sniffle and choke out a mumbled “mhm” as my hand shakily reaches up to ball as much of my hair as I can into a loose fist.  My fingers brush against his, and I find myself disappointed to feel him pull away.

 

“i’ll be right back,” he coos at me softly.  “just…  i’ll be right back.”

 

A faint buzz of magic pops in the air like electricity and he’s gone.

 

Oh, no, he’s going to leave me, he’s never coming back, and here come the waterworks again and my body is trying to throw up some more, the bitter and sour stench of my own vomit overpowering my nose and why would he ever love me, what the fuck did I even do to deserve his love?

 

And not ninety seconds later, he’s back.  I’ve leaned my cheek against the toilet seat, just completely exhausted and unable to keep my head up.

 

I look up at Sans with my smeared eyeliner and makeup and I probably look so pathetic and why did he come back?  He’s holding a washcloth, and there’s something stuffed in his pockets.

 

“here,” he tells me as he crouches down to my level, handing me the wash cloth. 

 

I gingerly take it, avoiding eye contact with him.

 

It’s been dipped in warm water and I use it to wipe my mouth of the purple vomit, and I feel vaguely refreshed. 

 

A cold bottle of water is extended to me, dripping with fresh condensation, and I quickly take it and twist the cap off and take a couple of glugs to get the terribly acrid taste out of my mouth.

 

And a third item is extended to me, and I notice it as a half-opened bag of monster food with a green label. 

 

“What are—“

 

“popato chisps.  they’ll help you feel better.”

 

They look like potato chips.

 

I slump over from the toilet and realize that it’s probably not a good idea to eat where you shit, but…  I’ve done worse things.

 

I take the bag and stick my hand in and take out a chip— _chisp_ — and take a bite.  It’s salty and crunchy and pretty much like a potato chip…  But after I eat a couple more, I do start to feel better.

 

Sans sighs and begins to remove his coat, pulling it around my shoulders and surrounding me in its residual warmth.  I didn’t even realize I was so cold, being in nothing but some wet underwear. 

 

He presses a gentle skeleton kiss to my forehead before sitting down next to me, propping his back against the bathroom wall and watching me eat.

 

All in total silence.

 

I try not to look up at him to suffer his judgmental stare.  I know it’s there, I just know it’s there…

 

Eventually I put the bag down on the floor beside me and take another sip of water, moving my hair to the side and pressing the cool bottle to the back of my neck.

 

And I make the mistake of looking at Sans.

 

He looks… pensive.  His brow is furrowed as he seems to be thinking hard about something.  What is he thinking?

 

“you’re just as self-destructive as i am,” he tells me flatly.

 

He’s… not wrong.

 

“why did you do it?”

 

I avoid his gaze again, looking at the labyrinth of grout in my bathroom tiles.

 

“was it because of me?”

 

I give a loose shrug, still not looking at him.

 

“you need help.”

 

“No, I don’t!”

 

The words came out of my mouth far too quickly, far too defensively.

 

Sans sighs and presses a hand to his forehead.

 

“do you like doing this?” he asks me, motioning to the toilet.  His voice is tinged with annoyance and bitter disappointment.

 

I stay silent, but my answer is quite obvious.

 

“i lo—“  He catches himself.  “i really care about ya.  seeing you hurt yourself like this…  it’s not healthy.  so i’m gonna ask again, and you’d better give me the answer i wanna fuckin’ hear.”

 

He pauses for dramatic effect.

 

“do you want help?”

 

I start crying again. 

 

My tears are heartfelt and genuine and I feel my soul bared for him as the hot shame and sick embarrassment flood my eyes. 

 

I’m enveloped in his warm embrace as he moves to hug me, pulling me in close to his boney body and he’s hugging me tight and I just feel so safe in his arms.  He cradles my head in his hand as I smoosh my face into his shoulder.

 

“ _S-Sa-ha-ha-hans_ …” I wail pathetically into his shirt, coughing and gasping for breath.

 

“shhh, it’s okay, babe, i’ve got ya.  you’re okay.”

 

* * *

 

Sans makes sure that I get a nice hot shower and some clean pyjamas before sitting me down to have a talk on my living room sofa.

 

“no more booze,” he tells me firmly, his pinpricks steely. 

 

I nod in agreement.

 

“’n’ no more bars.”

 

I nod again, snuggling in closer with the throw blanket on my couch.

 

“’n’ for asgore’s sake, red, no more fuckin’ cryin’.”  He smiles at me warmly when I look up to meet his gaze.  “can’t stand to see ya cryin’, you know.”

 

Sans pulls me close to him to smooch my cheek, and I lie on his rib cage, which is oddly comfortable for a skeleton.

 

We watch TV together for the rest of the night, and I end up falling asleep right on top of him. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are welcomed and appreciated!
> 
> Thirsty for more? Check out the [Valentine's Day special](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9678527) with Underswap Papyrus I posted a couple weeks ago!
> 
> Also wanted to thank you guys for the 100 followers on my NSFW/+18 blog! I'll be having some sort of raffle soon, so keep your eyes open for that cuz you may win a custom little drabble or something! uwu
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	25. Be Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyy lmao *finger guns* Long time no see yeah?
> 
> Sorry about that. I hope to have a steady update schedule from now until the end of the fic (which still isn't for the foreseeable future).

Waking up is always hard after a well-imbibed evening, but Sans is here to make it easier.

 

“never understood how all those little organs inside ya keep workin’ despite havin’ no magic,” he mumbles softly, the gentle vibrations from his voice stirring me awake.  His boney hands are playing with my hair, twisting a little strand around his finger before gently pulling it away and repeating the process.

 

“Mmm,” I moan, snuggling my face further into his chest, not really wanting to wake up just yet.  “B’ology, ‘r somethin’…”

 

“heh.  how ya feelin’, kiddo?”

 

I try to maintain my consciousness long enough to take inventory of my state of being.  My throat is raw and scratchy from throwing up, and my eyelids are slightly stuck together from the crusty sleep built up around them, but otherwise, I’m alive.  Oh, wait— that’s a headache.  Ugh, a bad one.  Shit.

 

“…’ungover,” I manage to mumble at least somewhat coherently.

 

I can feel as Sans shakes his head, no doubt rolling his eyes at me, and continues to play with my hair as we lie in comfortable silence together, my head rising and falling in time with his breathing.

 

. . .wait.

 

“Why do you breathe?”

 

The question came out before I even had a chance to really think about it.

 

Sans snorts in reply.  “rude.  why do _you_ breathe?”

 

“To live!” I scramble,  “I just mean…  You’re a _skeleton_ , why do you—”

 

“ah-ah, skeleton _monster,”_ he corrects me playfully, his cheeky grin plain in his tone of voice. _“_ there’s a difference.  sleeping with an actual skeleton would be necrophilia, which is highly illegal and frowned upon.”

 

I pull my cheek away from his chest and pry my eyes open to look up at him skeptically, cocking an eyebrow.

 

“Alright, _well_ , Mister Skeleton _Monster,_ why do you breathe if you have no lungs?  No blood to supply oxygen to?  Doesn’t make any sense.”

 

Sans tugs a little at my hair.  “makes perfect sense to me, sweetheart.  chalk it up to ‘cultural differences.’”

 

“That’s not a good answer.”

 

“you know what?  i’m just gonna breathe even harder to spite you.”

 

I find myself giggling tiredly and leaning forward to kiss his teeth in a quick peck.

 

“Oh yeah?” I mumble against his cheek seductively, trailing my fingers down his arm.  “I can make you breathe pretty hard, if I wanted to, you know…”

 

Sans smiles somewhat nervously.  “do you want to?”

 

I nod.  “It’s Sunday, right?  What time is it?”

 

Sans stuffs his hand into his pocket to pull out his phone.

 

“a little past eleven,” he reports.  “…fuck.  as much as i hate to say it, i need to go.”  He rubs his eye socket with his hand tiredly.

 

“Huh?  Not even gonna stay for some morning sex?”  I don’t even try to hide my disappointment as I rest my chin on his sternum, batting my eyelashes at him and cocking my head to the side.  Maybe my adorable face and cute lips can tempt him otherwise!

 

Sans smirks at me as he attempts to sit up.  “as much as i’d _love_ to smell even more of your rank morning breath, i got some stuff to do before the trip next weekend.”

 

 _“_ Okay, first of all— _rude_.  Second— _’stuff?’”_

 

“mhm.”  He runs his hand through my hair absentmindedly before seeming to remember our agreement.  “oh, uh—  goin’ to my shop to work on somethin’.”

 

“Must be important if you’re saying no to sex.”

 

“it is, but i also don’t feel like you _deserve_ any sex for a while,” he leers at me, poking his boney finger against the tip of my nose.

 

I sit up with an indignant scoff, batting his hand away.   _“Excuse me?”_

 

Sans just stares back at me with that wicked gleam in his eye.  “you heard me.”

 

“I did, but I’m confused why you think that _you’re_ the one holding the cards in this situation?”

 

Sans stretches out his bones and scratches at his belly (?!) nonchalantly.  “didn’t you get the memo?”

 

“You’d better leave before I get mad at you again.”

 

Before I can even blink, Sans is on top of me— he’s pinning me down on the couch with his hot mustard and cigarette breath on my face, and his knees are planted on either side of my waist.

 

“you _really_ don’t like it when you don’t get your way, huh, red?” he purrs at me in that deep, baritone voice of his.

 

I’m left staring into his eye sockets, his normal white pinpricks having since yielded to complete darkness in the right eye and that burning red in the left.  I feel butterflies in my belly as my subconscious tells me to be afraid, but I know that Sans wouldn’t hurt me…  Not unless I wanted him to.

 

“you were quite a bad girl last night, yanno,” he continues softly, leaning down to press several firm, steamy kisses along my neck.  “’n’ bad girls need to be _punished_.”

 

His words send a chill down my spine and I can feel goosebumps pimple my skin where his hot breath tickles along my neck, and the sharp points of his teeth are gently scraping along the thin, vulnerable flesh.

 

“don’t you think?”

 

Sans looks at me through hooded eye sockets as I’m starting to forget how to breathe, and I’m canting my hips upward, trying to grind against him, trying to fulfill my desire for him, please, just give it to me, please, I need you, I need this, I need—

 

Sans pulls away abruptly, standing up from the couch and stuffing his feet into his sneakers before I can even comprehend my loss.

 

I’m left high and dry.

 

“You’re a prick,” I grumble, crossing my arms over my chest in defeat.  I miss his warmth, and quite honestly, I never thought the smell of stale cigarettes could be so… pleasant.

 

“you love my prick.”

 

I scowl at him briefly before turning over to face the back of my couch, too sexually frustrated to even look at him.  Oh well.  As soon as he leaves, I’m going to take a warm, bubbly bath with that bath bomb I’ve been saving since my birthday and I’ll break out my favorite little pink vibe and fuck myself so hard, he’ll _wish_ he was there to—

 

Sans appears above me on the other side of the couch, folding his hands on the back and resting his chin on them as he looks down at me.

 

“’n’ don’t you _dare_ do anything while i’m gone, either,” he patronizes me, taking up another strand of my red hair around his finger.

 

“Tch.  Like what?” I retort bitterly, trying to push his hand away from my head.  I’m trying to play dumb, but I know Sans can see right through me.  He’s always been good at that.

 

“you know what.  remember the rules.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” I concede, “no drinking.  Got it.”

 

Sans hums softly, glad to hear that I’m complying with his sobering rules, and still twists my hair around his finger.

 

“no ‘alone time’, either,” he continues, and I feel my heart sink.  “not until i say so.”

 

What?  He can’t be serious.  It’s not like he’ll know what I do anywa—

 

“cuz i don’t wanna pop in for a surprise visit just to find ya havin’ a good time without me.”

 

Damn it!  That teleportation thing!  

 

“Then what am I supposed to do about my raging lady boner?” I practically whine.

 

He chuckles softly before leaning down to press his teeth to my lips, and I feel as his hot tongue snakes its way past my lips to tangle with my own tongue.  I’m melting into the kiss, my hand drifting up to caress his cheekbone and keep him there.

 

“ignore it,” he tells me when he finally pulls away, his voice stern and barely above a whisper.  “be good for me.  you’ll be happy if you do.”

 

I feel my face flushed with frustration and arousal.   _Fuck!_

 

“you want anything before i go?” he asks nonchalantly as he presses his teeth to the top of my head in a gentle, chaste kiss, probably meaning to cool me down.

 

“You mean _besides_ an orgasm?” I quip.

 

Sans lets loose a hearty chuckle in reply, and I find myself mirroring his doofy grin just from seeing him laugh.  He’s really very cute when he lets down his gruff exterior.

 

“yeah.  like some _water_ , or pain killers or something.”

 

I pause and purse my lips before nodding my head.  “Maybe some yogurt out of the fridge, too?”

 

Sans rolls his eyes in his skull with a playful smile on his skull.  “damn, you’re high maintenance.”

 

* * *

 

I couldn’t stop thinking about Sans for the rest of the damned week.

 

And not just dirty thoughts, either.

 

I couldn’t write a _single_ email without thinking about that stupid shit-eating grin on his face when he makes a stupid pun, or the way he looks at me like…  like…  I don’t know!  He just gets this _look_ on his face, like I’m a full moon on a cloudless night, standing bright and proud and outshining the millions of twinkling stars around me with how beautiful and captivating I am compared to them, and—

 

. . .When the fuck did I get so mushy?!

 

It’s really quite a miracle that I’ve managed to keep my dirty thoughts to a minimum all week, especially with how much I’ve been talking to Sans.  He says he’s at his shop doing some last minute tweaks on a ‘project,’ but he always answers me within three seconds of sending him a text.  He says it’s a surprise for our trip to the capital, so I decide to allow him to keep this secret for the moment.

 

. . .Although I really don’t know how much I like his surprises.

 

I _do_ know that Matt, my intern, was starting to get seriously pissed off at how spacey I was being.

 

“Um.  X?”

 

“Yeah, yeah— just a sec.”  I waved Matt off with one hand as I continued my text with the other.

 

**STOP WITH THE JOKES SANS THEY ARE NOT FUNNY**

**Delivered**

 

When I look up from my phone, I suddenly become painfully aware of the stupid grin plastered on my face.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” Matt asks me with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Um.”  I lock my phone with my thumb and place it screen-down next to me.  “Nothing.”

 

He flashes a skeptical look in my direction before rolling his green eyes in his skull, returning his attention back to the manila folder laid out in front of us on my desk.

 

“So, like I was sayin’, we need to come up with a decision on the budget for this fiscal year.  The deadline was last week, but I managed to schmooze Tina into letting us—“

 

Bzzz.

 

I find myself snatching my phone up in my hands before the text notification even stops.

 

**sans.**

**then can i tell ya about the song i wrote about tortillas**

**well, it’s actually more of a wrap**

 

I manage to cover my mouth in time to muffle the hideous snort coming up from my throat when I finally get the joke.  My thumbs start texting him a reply, and I don’t even notice as Matt keeps talking, leaning back with frustration and throwing his hand up in the air defeatedly.

 

“And the aliens from Mars want to be seated right next to Bigfoot at the spring banquet, and Marilyn Monroe has come back from the dead and I pissed in your coffee this morning.”

 

“Mhm,” I hum in reply, pretending to listen.  “Yeah.  Sounds good.”

 

**SANS STOP IT PLEASE I’M TRYING TO WORK**

**Delivered**

 

Matt sighs and allows his face fall into his hands.  “Oh, my God, X, _please_ just focus for _once_ this week,” he groans in exasperation.  “We need to get this done!”

 

A solid wave of guilt washes over me, followed by a steady trickle of embarrassment rising to my cheeks.  

 

“Who are you even talking to?” he continues, craning his neck to see my phone.  “You haven’t put your phone down all week.”

 

I’m quick to pull my phone into my lap under my desk before sheepishly answering him.  “. . .A friend.”

 

“Well you’re being _really_ friendly with ‘em.”  He pauses for a moment before his cool, blue eyes light up with mischief, and I know the exact thought that crosses his mind as he reclines in his chair, gazing at me behind hooded eyes.  “A _boyfriend_ , maybe?”

 

My cheeks are probably scarlet red by now, and I’m trying to resist the urge to blurt out _“No!”_ in an entirely-too-guilty manner.

 

“You’d better not have pissed in my coffee this morning,” I warn him through narrowed eyes, hoping to change the subject.

 

Matt snickers at me.  “You’ll never know.”

 

* * *

 

I was almost late to work on Thursday morning since I had overslept (and yes, it was because I stayed up all night texting Sans, but so what?  Sue me!).

 

I come running into my office with my raincoat still dripping from the freezing torrential downpour outside, shuddering from the wet cold as I shake my umbrella off on the linoleum floor.  

 

I sling my bag over the back of the chair in the corner of my office and carefully peel away the raincoat from my form, hanging it up on the hook behind my door to dry, and I turn around to make my way over to my desk and—

 

“What the…?”

 

A bouquet of a dozen roses or so are laid on my desk, and it’s only now that I realize that my office does smell pretty flowery.

 

I grasp the bunched up stems in my hand and bring the roses up to my face to bury my nose in their warm scent.  Mmm.  

 

I pluck the little card nestled in the flowers, curious as to who sent them.  The note is handwritten, and I recognize the atrocious scribbles as soon as I see them.

 

_“Was going to make a rose pun, but decided to just leaf it.”_

 

Oh, my God.  I can’t help but smile warmly as I take another whiff of the flowers.  On a whim, I flip the note over to see if there was anything else, and there is.  

 

_“Call me when you get settled.”_

 

He picks up on the first ring.

 

“hey, sweetheart, did you get the flowers?”

 

“I did,” I purr, twirling a strand of my frizzed hair in my fingers as I slink back into my office chair.  “They’re beautiful.  To what do I owe this pleasant surprise, and so early in the morning?”

 

“paps dragged me to the farmer’s market this morning,” he tells me with an annoyed sigh. “but i saw ‘em sittin’ nice and pretty on a little stand ‘n’ i thought of you.”

 

“Aw.”  Cue mushy feelings and dumb grin.  “Well that’s really sweet of you.  Thanks, Sans.”

 

“no prob,” he replies, sounding thoroughly pleased at my reaction.  “but there is one more thing.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“i’m comin’ over tonight, ‘round eight,” he tells me through a buttery smooth voice.  He’s not asking.  “and you’d better not be wearing anythin’ at all.”

 

“Oh?  Is my punishment over?” I ask hopefully.

 

“we’ll have to see how good you are for me tonight.”

 

He hangs up before I can even reply.

 

Matt walks into my office as I’m arranging the flowers in a spare vase I found in the breakroom.

 

“Whoa, what’s the occasion?” he asks with a curt chuckle, handing me my standard coffee order.  Every single day, without fail, he brings me coffee from the vendor down the street, and I hate to admit that he’s spoiled me and my caffeine addiction.  “Valentine’s Day isn’t for another week.”

 

“He thought of me,” I find myself mumbling aloud.

 

“Ah.  That ‘friend’, huh?”

 

I shoot him an innocent glance as I tip the cup of coffee to my lips, and it’s now that I notice that he’s soaked to the bone!  His messy brown hair is darkened and matted with rain, and he’s clutching his own coffee for dear life, no doubt trying to warm his hands.

 

“Matt! You didn’t have to bring me coffee when it’s pouring like that outside!”

 

He shrugs and attempts to hide a brief shiver behind a warm smile.  “It wasn’t that much trouble.  Anything for my favorite boss lady.”

 

Ah!  What did I do to deserve such kindness today?  Things are really starting to look up for me.

 

* * *

 

Sans comes over later that evening, just like he said.

 

“heya.  miss me?” he asks as he walks into my bedroom, already taking off his coat.  

 

I’m reclined on my bed, stark naked, with my fists bunched up by my sides as I resist the overwhelmingly dangerous desire to touch myself right in front of him.  

 

“Sans, you son of a bitch, just _fuck me_ already!” I whine, squirming in my place.  “ _Please_ , I’ve waited a whole goddamned _week!”_

 

Sans chuckles darkly as he tosses his coat over my chaise in the corner, surveying my body hungrily with his white pinpricks roaming over my legs and chest and everywhere inbetween.

 

“wrong answer, sweet cheeks.”  He cracks his knuckles loudly, and I feel a nervous sense of foreboding wash over me.

 

“What?” I balk at him incredulously.

 

“get on your knees,” he growls, pointing down to his feet.

 

Uh-oh.  

 

I sheepishly swing my legs over the bed and fall to my knees in front of him, my gaze lowered to his shoes, too afraid to look up at him.

 

Sans stubs his finger into the bottom of my chin to lift my gaze to his hungry eye sockets.  “have you been a good girl for me?”

 

I nod anxiously.  “Yes, I promise.  Haven’t touched myself all week, just like you asked, or drank anything, I promise, I’ve been good, now please, can you—”

 

Sans presses his boney finger to my lips to shush me.

 

“you talk way too much,” he tells me calmly, his finger lingering along the feathered flesh of my lower lip.  He grins wickedly before removing his hand from my chin to pull out the half-flaccid ectoplasmic cock stuffed into his jogger pants, glowing crimson against his pale phalanges.

 

I look up at him curiously, and he just returns my gaze with that shit-eating grin of his.

 

“get to suckin’, sweetheart.”

 

I silently decide to take whatever I can get from him with humility.  I tentatively take the warm head into my mouth, suckling gently as my lips wrap around the glans and allowing my tongue to lap up the flowing pre from his slit.

 

His hands fall to my head, bunching up my hair into a ponytail as he watches my flushed pink lips caress his cock, a small groan rumbling from his chest.  

 

“good girrrrl,” he purrs at me through a gruff voice, and I flick my tongue under his cock as I feel it begin to stiffen in my mouth.  “now take it deeper for me.”

 

I inhale a deep breath through my nose before slowly working a few more inches into my mouth, feeling his hot magic skin practically throb in response.  He gently massages my scalp with his boney finger tips as I work him farther and farther past my lips, my cheeks hollowing as I attempt to keep my teeth from scraping against his dick.

 

“show me how much you want my cock.”

 

I moan from the way his deep voice reverberates through my body, striking a chord in my gut as I attempt to fit more of his fat cock inside my mouth, and God, I just want it stuffed inside my pussy!  I begin to curl my fingers around the base of his cock to hold it steady before I try to deepthroat him, but he snatches my wrist in his hand to stop me.

 

“didn’t say you could use yer hands,” he hisses at me with a coy smirk.  “mouth.  _only_.”

 

He throws my hand to the side and I struggle to hold my tongue, knowing full well just how this little game would go if I barked something unsavory at him.  

 

I lower my eyes to his cock once again, laving my tongue along the underside before sucking the tip roughly, eagerly attempting to milk him of his intoxicating magic precum.

 

“no teasin’, either,” he growls at me, pushing my head forward as he bucks his pelvis into my face, trying to get me to take his cock farther.  “be a good girl for me.  take it all.”

 

I take another deep, steadying breath before forcing as much of his cock down my throat as I can, choking around the thick ectoplasmic flesh and I can feel my eyes watering and my gag reflex is surging up past my neck but I force it down, determined to be his good girl, to do as Sans tells me because _goddamnit I love the way he takes control of me like this._

 

Sans releases a broken moan from the way my hot throat feels as it surrounds his throbbing cock, and I can feel as his grip on my hair tightens.  

 

“mmm, yer really likin’ when i coo at ya like that, huh?  callin’ you my good little girl?”

 

I only reply with a heady moan, his cock still buried in my mouth, before starting to bob my head back and forth, back and forth, fucking his cock with my throat.  

 

“aaah, _fffffuck_ , babe, you’re so fucking good at that,” he continues.  “you must really be itchin’ for me to touch ya.”

 

My hands reach up to clutch at the fabric of his pants, steadying myself as I force his fat cock into the very back of my throat, shaking my head slightly to give him the friction he so desperately craves.

 

“s-shit,” he rasps, “alright, red, ya drive a… _nnngghhh_ , ya drive a hard bargain.”  

 

Sans nudges my shoulder to tell me I can take a break, and I carefully pull my lips from around his tip with a wet pop, looking up at my skeleton lover eagerly.  

 

He gently takes my hand and leads me over to the bed, where he lies down and makes himself comfortable before curling his finger towards me.  I stick my knee into the bed and start to crawl on top of him to straddle his waist, but he places his boney hand on my forearm to stop me.

 

“uh-uh, sweetheart.  up here,” he commands firmly, motioning to his…  his skull?

 

“You want me to sit on your face?” I ask with a cocked eyebrow.  I was hoping for actual penetration, but once again— I’ll take what I can get.

 

“mhm,” he confirms in a soft hum.  “and yer gonna face that way so you can suck my cock, too.  come on— up.”

 

I feel myself blushing like a fucking virgin as I awkwardly swing my leg over his face, but I feel as his hands immediately move up to hold my hips in place like it’s the most natural thing in the world for him.  His hot breath tickles the inside of my thigh and I find myself sighing in anticipation as I plant my elbows over his femurs to steady myself over his glowing red phallus.

 

“Sans, please,” I beg him softly, shifting my hips from side to side, hoping to tease him with my pussy right in his face.  “Please, I need you.”

 

“damn, you’re so fuckin’ wet,” he purrs against my thigh before gently biting the soft flesh between his teeth.  “you sure you haven’t been touchin’ yourself?”  

 

I squeal when I feel his teeth nip my outer labia before soothing the area with his scorching hot tongue, so close to my bundle of nerves and yet so far away!  

 

“Yes!  Yes, yes, Sans, I promise, I promise,” I keen, my head hanging limply between my shoulders as I clench my eyes shut, “I’ve been a good girl, I’ve been a good girl...”

 

He chuckles softly while I’m whimpering for him, so weak and vulnerable and needy for his touch.  

 

“maybe you’ll get what you want if you give me what i want.”

 

I dive down and practically choke myself on his cock with the first gulp of his length that I take into my mouth, desperate to feel his tongue between my folds.  His tip invokes my gag reflex as soon as it hits the back of my throat, but I swallow it down because I’m a good girl— _his good girl._

 

Sans groans and swears under his breath, pressing his forehead to my thigh to steady his reeling nerves from feeling my hot throat fucking his cock.  

 

And then he finally, _finally,_ allows his burning tongue to lap at my wet pussy, dragging the warm magic from my entrance all the way to my clit and back again, smearing my slick all over my cunt.  My thighs quiver as my needy cunt is finally given the attention it so desperately deserves after being starved all week, and I resist the urge to grind my hips against his face.

 

“Sans,” I wail pathetically as I take a rasping breath from sucking his cock.  “Sans, please— _more!”_

 

He continues his lazy licks to my pussy as he holds my hips steady over his face— up and down, up and down, and maybe a little swirl with his tongue here or there.  

 

While I’m grateful for actually being touched, this kind of languid teasing isn’t really all that much better.

 

“the more you beg, the less my dick is in your mouth,” he purrs at me between his slow, teasing licks.

 

Fucking hell, Sans!

 

Okay.  Maybe I should just shut up and let my blowjob skills do all the talking.

 

I flip my hair over to one side before taking a deep breath and going back to bobbing my head on his cock, my soft lips dragging over his aching ecto-flesh repeatedly as I work my tongue along his shaft.  

 

Over and over again, I fuck his cock with my mouth, and Sans hums and groans and sighs in response, his grip on my ass fluctuating in strength as I realize he’s having trouble holding his orgasm back.  

 

As the minutes go by, Sans begins shuddering just the slightest bit as I continue my ministrations, even bucking his hips as I slide my tongue and lips around his member.  Warm air brushes over my labia as he huffs against my thigh between those tantalizing licks and suckles on my swollen little clit.

 

Sans is getting close to his breaking point.  

 

I decide to go for broke, redoubling my efforts in an attempt to milk him for his cum.

 

“oooh, _fuck_ , red, i’m gonna fuckin’... ‘m gonna cum in yer mouth,” he groans hoarsely as he digs his fingers into my hips, struggling to hold on amongst the pleasure.  “k-keep going, i’m almost there, babe, almost…”

 

I scream in pain when I feel his teeth clamp down into the meaty flesh of my inner thigh when he cums, my mouth suddenly fills up with warm, gooey magic.  His sharp teeth hurt like a goddamned _motherfucker_ and I struggle to breathe as my mouth is flooded with his cum, and it just seems like there’s so much and I’m trying to swallow it all but it just keeps coming!

 

I finally gasp for air as I pull away from his cock, coughing and gagging into my hand as something goes down my throat the wrong way.

 

Sans is quick to recover, however, as he gently nudges my butt away from his face, sitting up and watching anxiously as I cough and choke on his cum.

 

“oh, fuck, i’m sorry, red, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to fucking hurt you, are you okay?”

 

I cough some more into my hand and smile before sputtering out, “I’m fine.”

 

Sans doesn’t even ask before he fetches me a bottle of water from the kitchen, but the water is cold and soothing as it runs down my throat and I feel a lot better once I’ve downed half the bottle.

 

“let me look at your leg.”

 

I recline onto my back and spread my legs for him in a very different manner than what I’m used to.

 

“How’s it look, doc?” I smile at him.

 

Sans presses his fingers into the teeth marks on my thigh to check if the wound is bleeding, and sure enough, little pinheads of blood begin to well up in each toothy indent.

 

“shit,” he mutters under his breath.  He rushes off to my bathroom and brings out some bandages, and after a couple of minutes of playful banter, my thigh is all doctored up and I’m resting on his chest with his arm curled around me tightly.

 

“So was that good enough for you?” I ask with a lighthearted chuckle.

 

“you’re perfect for me,” he mumbles into the mess of red hair brushing against his skull.  He maneuvers himself to face me on his side as he rests on his elbow.  “but yes, you were quite the good little human for me tonight,” he finishes with a smirk.

 

“Good enough to warrant an orgasm?”

 

“what?”  Sans seems sincerely taken aback.  “after i hurt ya like that?”

 

“Didn’t hurt that much,” I mumble softly, cozying over to him to press my lips to his teeth in a smooth kiss.  “My mind was too focused on what you were doing down here.”

 

I bring his hand down to between my legs, his thumb brushing against the fresh bandage.  

 

Sans smiles as he returns the kiss, and even takes up an experienced pace of swirling his fingers around my still-swollen clit.  Over and over again, coating them with my slick, his warm phalanges work me up and up, his tongue tangling with my own as we share a calm, passionate kiss together.  

 

It isn’t long until my breathing quickens and I have to pull away from our kiss as my own orgasm washes over my body, forcing my legs to stiffen and my hips to buck as I moan his name in a long, drawn out wail, squirming in his embrace.

 

It takes a moment for me to come down, but when I do, I find myself looking up at my skeleton lover with a hazy smile before pulling him into another kiss, giggling and intertwining my legs with his.

 

Or— _excuse me_ — skeleton _monster_ lover.

 

And honestly, as we lie here together, drifting off to sleep in each other’s arms, I couldn’t care any less about what he is besides my lover.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Have comments, concerns, questions? Drop me a line on my [NSFW tumblr](http://whoawickedsins.tumblr.com) blog and tell me what you think, or go to the 'links' section for some juicy smut I've never posted here on AO3!
> 
> Or check out my [SFW (mostly) main blog](http://whoawicked.tumblr.com) with other silly things.


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